


Misconceptions

by Possibilities



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Azor Ahai, Daenerys Targaryen is later in the story, Depression, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Jon Snow is later in the story, Prophecy, Reincarnation, Sothoryos, Soulmates, The Great War, The Prince That Was Promised, White Walkers, world building
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-05-31 12:16:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 25,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15119222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Possibilities/pseuds/Possibilities
Summary: The tasks she's been set are formidable, but the growing threat of White Walkers north of the Wall means her time has run out. Meeting Jaime Lannister should have been trivial by comparison. Instead they'll both discover how fine the line is between love and hate ...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So chapters 1 - 4 are set in Sothoryos and are necessary to outline the rest of the story. Little is known about this continent in the books/TV Series as George R.R. Martin has left it purposefully vague. Which of course meant I had to take artistic license and create my own version of Sothoryos. For those wondering Dyra Karvendeesh in my head is portrayed by Jinah (Nana) Im, Hamid by Choi Seunghyun, and Vyan by Ken Watanabe. Dalian is inspired by the cities of Jaipur, Jaisalmer and the fictitious city of Alamut from Prince of Persia. I hope you enjoy reading!

# CHAPTER ONE – DYRA KARVENDEESH

Dyra hated the rain, so it was fortunate for her that the city of Dalian had negligible precipitation; the way her light, navy, linen clothes would plaster themselves to her skin, rendering any minute movement unbearable, tended to send shivers down her spine, vertebrae by vertebrae. But on that late summer morning, the sun cresting in the sky, it may have well rained for the amount she had perspired. As she wound her way through the narrow, dusty streets of Dalian’s old town, she grumbled to herself, indulging her bitterness in self-pity before she appeared in the auction crowds. If she wanted any hope of walking away with the amount of livestock she required for the city orphanages, she needed to save every last ounce of her waning patience. Pulling the makeshift hood further over her head, she kept her head down and continued meandering through the thick flowing crowds; today was market day after all and whilst shops sold similar produce week round, everyone knew that the market held the freshest (not to mention the cheapest) food. 

A man rushing past, slammed into her shoulder allowing the sharp jolt to worsen the persistent throbbing sensations in her body. The further Dyra travelled, the more she felt the perpetual pain in her limbs and chest worsen. There was a time when the trek across the city wouldn’t have raised her heart beat, but that was long ago and now it only served as an acrid reminder of how debilitated she was compared to her former self. As if her own memories were not enough, the pain served as a constant physical sign of everything that she’d suffered, events that no amount of time could dull. 

Feeling his eyes on her shoulder, she took a sweeping glance behind her. Sure enough Vyan was following her, ever mindful of her strict instructions to remain at least 15 feet away so as not to draw attention; there were only a select few women in Dalian who were protected by a member of the High Wardens and right now she was trying to remain as anonymous as possible. Market day was one of the few times of the week when she was simply left alone and they were precious hours that she looked forward to. Solitude was so hard to come by in the Daleen Palace and as she aged she simply desired nothing more, life was so much easier when she was alone. If any of her subjects realised it was her Vyan was following, it would not take long for her shoddy disguise to be revealed. Vyan would usually protest and remind her it was harder to defend her when she was so far away. One sharp glare and a subtle gesture to the concealed dagger she kept on her hip was enough to remind him just who it was he was guarding. His mere presence had always been more of a precautionary measure, and less of a necessity. The warden saw her watching him and gave her a short nod. He accepted her desire for inconspicuousness and chose to respect her wishes, even if he could not understand them. And it was for this reason that he was the one who accompanied her every week. 

She knew, even without looking when she was approaching the Forum as the smell of spices, livestock and flowers punctuated the heady air around her, ridding it of the usual malodor of grime and smoke. She continued to follow the crowds swarming, wincing whenever anyone elbowed her out of the way. The years of solitude and reserve had gifted her a varying sense of self-entitlement and at being shoved she found it hard to refrain from yelling at those that dared to push her out of the way. Gritting her teeth to bite down her indignation, she paused to take in the looming domed forum before her. 

“7 bullocks,” she muttered to herself and Vyan who’d now drawn up alongside her “it doesn’t matter what vegetables but that and eight sacks of potatoes should keep them all going throughout the next few days.” An imperceptible nod and he was back amongst the crowd. Internally Dyra wondered just how she was going to lose Vyan later. The message had arrived at a late hour the previous night, and since then she had kept it tucked away within her underclothes. If she wanted to have any hope of making the meeting, Vyan would have to be gone soon. But that was a problem for later, for now she had to focus on the task in hand. Readying herself to face the packed halls, she soldiered on through the sandstone arches and in the direction of the main ring. The high temperatures had done little to deter people from witnessing the auction taking place, and so Dyra had to fight her way to get towards the front rows. She received a few odd looks from those she elbowed out of the way, supposing that even with the rough linen trousers and plain chemise she wore, there was something about her; the cavalier tilt of her jaw, the impatiently raised brow, the confidence of her gait that was unfitting of the common guise she donned. Such mismatched mannerisms in the simple outfit she wore when venturing into the public would always cause the more eagle eyed of her people to take a second glance. 

As she approached the ropes that separated the crowds from the sand laden ring she looked up at the expansive glass dome that covered the Forum. What was designed to aerate the hall and maximise the amount of light within, now only served to trap heat, baking the crowds in a room with minimal shade. She supposed when empty the dome made the room rather alluring but for now she resented it. The rest of the Forum was much more functional; high open arches on all sides meant stall holders and agricultural farmers could easily load and unload their goods when the market opened. Despite being built much more practically and simply than any other building in Dalian there was a grandiose beauty in the sheer magnitude of it. Dyra had often mused how right it was that the Forum, which formed the central hub of social and economic activity for so many city residents, was one of its nicest buildings. It felt appropriate that there should be a building as beautiful as this that belonged to them, given that they made up most of the people living in Dalian. 

No sooner had she looked up than the raucous chatter around her increased in volume as the first group of bullocks were lead into the ring and the auctioneer took his place on the podium. Dyra readied her hand on the wallet in her breast pocket. And so the battle once again commenced …

///// 

The boy in front of her was taking a painstaking length of time to count out the money she had given him in exchange for her purchases. She had previously been rather pleased with herself. Seven bulls – she made sure never to buy heifers, they were far too valuable to be led straight to the slaughterhouse – all well past their prime but not so old that they had become all bone and no meat. The price hadn’t been too bad either and she come away with coins to spare. But now as the boy took an eternity to slowly count each individual coin she could feel whatever satisfaction she’d had slipping away again. It had been a long four hours waiting for the right cattle to come through into the ring; she didn’t want to take too prize a cow, her people deserved the chance to buy those – it was after all their livelihood depending on it. All the while she had been acutely aware that the longer it took to find the food she needed, the less time she had to give Vyan the slip. Exasperated, her finger twitched in agitation against her folded arm and her big toe started to tap against the limestone floor. Almost as if sensing her irritation, the boy dropped the bag of coins he was counting and fumbled to gather its scattered contents. Dyra tried hard not to openly sigh. She already had such limited time in the city unguarded, she should have been enjoying it rather than wasting it by watching someone count out what she already knew to be the correct amount of gold. The sound of rapid steps approaching made her look up to see Vyan, leading a donkey that reluctantly tugged a cart laden with burlap sacks of potatoes, root vegetables and peppers behind him. Her lips quirked at the corner and her head gave a satisfied nod which was rewarded a grin of his own. He held out a bag of coins as he approached her. 

“Still some left, we can put them towards next week Your –“ Dyra’s quick glare cut him off before he blew her cover in the final hour of her mission, though seeing as there was only the simple minded boy nearby she supposed it was of little consequence. Vyan gave her a sheepish grin as his only form of apology before turning towards the boy in front of her. 

“You’ll find it’s all correct boy. She never makes mistakes when it comes to money,” the Warden spoke sharply, as if sensing his mistress’ annoyance. The farmboy’s cheeks flamed a deep red hue from embarrassment and Dyra felt some of her irritation dissipate, replaced by guilt at her lack of empathy. With a hand on Vyan’s arm she turned to him. 

“Your first time here?” she asked more gently. The boy, sensing she was now less inclined to slapping something, nodded a quick response. 

“I don’t want to get fired madam,” he spoke, his Khersonian accent thick “my family can’t afford to have one less child earning their way.” Dyra nodded more sympathetically before tossing another two gold coins from the bag Vyan had produced. 

“For your troubles,” she said quickly hoping her more formal accent would not give her away, though with Vyan standing so close, if the boy couldn’t tell she was nobility then he was even more simple minded than she’d been assuming. Wryly reminding herself to go over the Khersoni literacy rates when she returned to the Daleen Palace, she made a move to grab the rope from which the seven bullocks were strung to. The young farmboy looked at her with wide eyes.

“You can’t carry them all miss, they’ll drag you through the streets,” he said reaching to stop her. Fed up of keeping the pretence any longer, for the first time Dyra raised her head to look squarely into his panicked eyes before removing her hood several inches. The boys mouth opened and his face paled. 

“I’d like to see them try,” Dyra said her lips quirking into a smirk.

“Your Excellency! I-I-I’m so sorry, I mean … I d-didn’t mean to –“ 

“You are not the first, and you will not be the last I have no doubt,” she grumbled before retaking the rope. With a quick glance at Vyan and a final nod at the poor boy - who now stood dumbstruck in the Forum’s southern exit unable to comprehend just who he’d sold seven cows to – Dyra headed up towards the periphery walkway slowly coaxing the cattle to follow. When her back was turned to both men, she afforded herself the luxury of wincing at the jolting pain that had run up through her arm when she’d yanked on the rope. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to remove any hint of distress from her face, she did not need to give Vyan anymore cause for concern. Her freedom had already been justifiably limited enough by Hamïd and she did not need it reducing even more. 

You would be forgiven for thinking that Dalian was a beautiful ancient city and nothing more – a jewel remaining trapped in the realms of times long gone. Dalian was the historic command centre for the Khersoni Province, the eastern most province of Sothoryos, and its people had taken pride in keeping its appearance up to date with its status. And certainly, the dome tipped spires, the teardrop shaped windows and the limestone walls would commend this initial impression. Even the poorer districts were still picturesque, the flat roofs left way to gardens and makeshift dining tables by those wishing to maximise every last inch of their property. The staggering judicial buildings and the temples were covered in ancient paintings, murals and mosaics depicting everything from the creation of Sothoryos to the founding of the Senate, from the Freedom Wars to the construction of Dalian itself. As the city expanded so did the decoration and piece by piece it was becoming a living breathing work of art. The most beautiful building in Dalian was unmistakingly the Daleen Palace. As a building, the palace had clearly been designed to favour looks over practicality; thin spires curved to dizzying heights among the great halls and throne room and exposed arches meant that should the city ever come under attack, it would seem easily assailable. And yet, its position at the summit of the Daleen Mound, and the two 30 foot guarded walls which circumvented it’s gardens meant that (despite its architecture leaving it woefully under equipped for a siege) the Daleen Palace had never once succumbed to foreign invaders in all of its 1,200 year existence. 

And in this way the Palace was a perfect reflection of the city as a whole. What seemed ostentatiously impractical actually hid a labyrinth of ingenious design, brought about by years of progressive planning, curated by minds centuries ahead of their time. The judicial buildings and Dalian’s legal system were the first of their kind in the world, it’s council one of the largest and diverse in Sothoryos, even the sewage system was implemented nearly two thousand years previously, after High Duke Alakh had famously complained he ‘could no longer endure the rotting stench of fermenting shit.’ The city may have appeared ancient but the reality was antithetical. The oil the region mined had made Khersoni rich, and the peace Sothoryos had luxuriously enjoyed had made Dalian a city truly ahead of its time. 

Dyra had not moved more than 100 yards before Vyan caught up with her, causing the bulls to skitter anxiously before resting his hand on her shoulders. A sarcastic part of her had wondered whether she would have been able to lose him somehow with 7 cows in tow – a fool’s hope at best. She cast her eyes to his hand pointedly before he quickly removed it from her. He may have been closer to her than most but it was still frowned upon for people of low birth to touch High Duchesses, and Dyra was tired of allowing herself to blur the line between master and servant – the Lord knew she had done it enough in her life, and each time it had left her more and more broken when they departed. 

“What is it?” she asked refusing to look at him or lessen her pace and instead choosing to focus on a merchant selling glass lanterns to a little girl. She desperately tried to refrain from wheezing from how out of breath she was, if only to lend the image that she was somewhat whole again; that nothing was wrong. Vyan naturally saw right through it but was either too polite or too scared to mention so.

“I’ll take them from you, Your Excellency,” Vyan requested offering his hand for the cattle, once they were within 100 yards of the slaughter house. She sighed, she should have known that she would not be permitted to take them alone. Vyan knew when she tried to cover how much physical pain she was in. He’d afforded her the luxury of keeping up appearances of strength in front of the farm boy, but now eyes were no longer following them he returned to the over protective persona he was known for. Whilst she understood his need to alleviate her of any gripe she may have with her body, there was a masochistic tendency in her that liked the ache. Sometimes she desired nothing more than to return to the training grounds in the palace, pick up a sword or, even better, a crossbow, and slice and shoot and sweat and feel. The knowledge that the throbs that now consumed her once were never there at all, were a form of guilty torture forged in the very deepest pits of self-loathing. She deserved whatever torment it gave her. 

She stopped herself from resisting and thought about the final part of her own personal mission for the day. She would never be able to complete it if Vyan remained with her. Perhaps his own vigilance would allow her the solitude she required. So, halting her initial sarcastic retort, she handed the reins over to him. 

“You know where to take them afterwards?” She could see Vyan wondering why she was asking him this, still under the impression she would follow obligingly. 

“I believe so, Your Excellency,” came the quick response “If I remember correctly, you said you wanted the food dispersed among the orphanages this time.”

Dyra gave a quick hum of approval. She used to deliver the food herself, relished in it even, it had helped boost morale among Dalian’s people and worked to forge an undying loyalty between Duchess and subjects. Now, the memories were tainted and she no longer had the heart or the patience to deal with the thankful crowds. There was nothing to be thankful for, she was just doing her duty. And yet despite her bitterness, she could never quite make herself kick the habit of going to The Forum and purchasing the food herself, at least that way she still had some personal influence over the food delivery. 

“Good, I shall make my own way back to the Palace then,” she said quickly. “Get one of the workers here to assist you with the food as there’s a fair amount.”

Vyan started to splutter his protests but was quickly shut off by her stare. 

“Vyan, how long has it been?” He shuffled uncomfortably.

“Nearly 200 years Your Excellency? I could not say,” he mumbled, looking down at his shoes sheepishly.

“203,” she levelled his gaze. “Most Dukes or Duchesses die within a year of something ... something like that. I am not going to do anything stupid,” she hissed. It was a lie, she knew that, and it hurt that she had to lie to someone who placed so much trust within her. But this was necessary. She had had enough of everything and everyone. She was tired of everyone treating her like fractured glass, waiting for the moment the cracks in her façade would give out and she would cease to be. Were they right to? Of course. But she could no longer have them believing something was still wrong with her, it would make the plan so much more difficult. 

“At some point you must all acknowledge that if I was going to try something, I would have done it by now.” _Lies _, she screamed at herself.__

__

__“I understand, Your Excellency,”_ _

__

__“Good.” She nodded at Vyan and departed, feeling his eagle like eyes burn through her back and follow her movement through the crowds, watching to see if she walked towards the Palace like she said she would. She rounded the corner as if to head towards the incline up the Daleen Mound before stopping and leaning against the wall. Counting to 100 she hesitantly peered round the corner. Vyan, was still there but was now occupied with trying to get the extensive collection of food to its destination. Ducking into an alleyway, Dyra removed her hood before turning the cloak inside out to reveal a different colour. Checking the streets left and right again she began walking in the opposite direction to where she had set off._ _

__

__/////_ _

__

__The tavern was just as she remembered when she’d first ventured there. Situated in one of the less desirable parts of the city, the building was old and it’s interior lined with exposed sandstone brickwork. The steps that lead up its six floors were uneven and polished, worn down over decades of people running up and down them. Upon entering she was bombarded by aromas of cardamom spiced pork, pickled root vegetables, chargrilled sea bass with peppers and the sticky humidity of steamed jasmine rice; her stomach rumbled. Dyra had yet to eat that day and now regret at not purchasing fresh fruit at the Forum was clouding her thoughts._ _

__

__Peering around at the heaving tables of people appreciating cold drinks and hearty food, her eyes found him in the back corner of the pub, hair covered by a cloth of orange linen, face obscured from view by the tankard of ale resting on the table. Restraining herself from rolling her eyes, at his ‘covert’ choice of location, she weaved her way between throngs of people enjoying the shade from the blistering sun outside, before settling down in the chair opposite._ _

__

__“I thought Your Excellency would appreciate discretion,” his low voice wheezed out, a side effect of a lifetime of smoking the tobacco grown by the deserts in Khersoni._ _

__

__“And this is your understanding of discretion,” Dyra seethed “A heaving pub on market day?” she fought to withhold her voice from being too loud. The last thing they needed was to draw more attention._ _

__

__“Sometimes the busiest of crowds are the best place to hide,” he responded nonchalantly_ _

__

__“Not when you have my face,” Dyra was close to spitting. The man simply responded with an arrogant tilt and nod of his head._ _

__

__“Perhaps.”_ _

__

__There was a long, pregnated pause as Dyra waited for him to elaborate. When it became clear he was to remain silent, she decided to be more blunt._ _

__

__“The message said you had news on the search. What has happened? Has any of the igneonite been found?”_ _

__

__“We believe so.”_ _

__

__Her heart stopped. So there was some still in Khersoni. Most of Sothoryosi igneonite could be found in The Trove and there alone. It used to be widely accessible, but now given the circumstances it was prohibited._ _

__

__“Well? I don’t have time! Give me what you have found and you shall be compensated,” impatience colouring her tone, Dyra could feel a glimmer of hope within her for the first time in 203 years. This was more than she could have ever asked for. But it seemed this hope was to be dashed before it had chance to blossom, as the man lifted his head enough to look her in the eyes. It was just as unsettling as it had been the first time she had properly seen him. The left side of his face was littered with scars, as if someone at one point had been content to use him as a human training dummy and even though she knew to expect it, the sheer brutality of his wounds caught her off guard. But there was an aura besides the startling facial scars that filled the pit of her stomach with a sense of unease. The way his eyes seemed to mock her as he noticed her losing hope subtly hinted at the slightly sadistic nature she had come to expect from him, those thin dry lip curving into a smile caught somewhere between a sneer and snarl. The face painted a picture of a man who delighted in sheer brute force and had lived his life accordingly. He would never harm her, that much she knew, but she was certain that that was because he’d seen her use the dagger on her hip and because he knew his own death would be a direct consequence of hers. Had she been another ordinary woman, the situation would most likely be very different. Not for the first time she swore at herself for placing such a problematic task in his hands. But dark deeds drew in dark people, and she would be even more a fool if she believed that anyone virtuous would help her find the igneonite._ _

__

__“I left as soon as we got some girl,” the man jeered “I ain’t hangin’ around what with the wardens patrolling. Rode four days to get here so it wouldn’t be discovered. It’s being forged as we speak.” He said._ _

__

__“How long?”_ _

__

__“Well that depends on my compensation now, don’t it?”_ _

__

__Dyra sighed. This was going to be difficult._ _

__

__“I can get you the money instantly should you need it but until the igneonite is in my hands you will receive no more than half the amount we agreed. I am not so stupid as to pay you the full amount without having my purchase with me.” The man gritted his teeth in annoyance. He leaned back, his loose shirt rising up to reveal the edge of a sharp narrow blade._ _

__

__“Best not get on my wrong side girl, you’ll give me all the money now,” the man mumbled, with a menace almost too lackadaisical to be taken seriously. Dyra released another sigh._ _

__

__“You really do not want to do this,” she whispered drawing her features into the most imperious expression she could manage. The twitching of his hand in the direction of the dagger, was the only response she received._ _

__

__A single frame in time had not yet passed before the man felt Dyra’s own dagger piercing the linen at his crotch. It seemed as if the girl had not even moved; as if time had erased the 5 seconds it should have taken her to draw her weapon from her hip and press it against his groin from history._ _

__

__Impossible. Inconceivable._ _

__

__And yet, there it was. And there was she, daring him to even breathe._ _

__

__“Using magic eh, Karvendeesh,” the man mumbled. He glanced below the table to the dagger in her hand. “You fight dirty, Your Excellency” before his eyes landed on the table where his own dagger now lay, facing his chest._ _

__

__“Very dirty.” Dyra’s skin crawled, the allusion to soiling the reputation she should be maintaining hitting her harder than she would have cared to admit. Implications of how low she’d sunk always grated on her, mocking the ideals that she used to prize and used to uphold. She could feel a slight dizziness at the edge of her vision and the heat from the ovens in the tavern started to make her light headed. Internally she cursed herself for resorting to magic. At the time it had felt necessary to teach him who it was he was really dealing with. But now as she felt what little energy she had left, dissipate it, it left her reeling at her own stupidity. She should not be so easily bated. She’d only woken up yesterday morning, her body was still reeling from the previous coma’s magic abuse. She shouldn’t have even attempted to use it for several weeks at least. Groaning at the thought she was going to have to deal with the consequences of her actions, she dismissed the bandit’s accusations._ _

__

__“It would seem we are now in agreement. The first half of the money is yours,” she spoke slowly, uncaringly, determined that all the man should see was her unaffected gaze. Carefully she pressed the dagger into his crotch for a second longer before removing it all together and tossing him the bag of coins. Standing up to leave she gathered her dagger and readjusted the hood on her head._ _

__

__“When it is complete, send me another message and I shall meet you.” She curtly turned to depart._ _

__

__“There’s only one reason you’d want this,” the man called after her, the taunting lilt to his speech a poor mask for his blatant curiosity “you sure it’s the wisest choice?” Dyra hesitated and for a second she allowed her façade slipped. She wanted to say yes with every fibre of her body, but even she knew just what it would mean. Would it make her that much of a destructive being to go through with this? Every time she questioned her motives, her own selfishness would fight her conscience and win. This amount of suffering and desolation was too much. Straightening her shoulders she continued to walk away from the man. He did not deserve an answer, nor did she have one to give. You can’t answer something you truly do not know._ _

__

__/////_ _

__

__Throwing open the doors to her room took effort. The minute Dyra had left the tavern, the gong of the High Temple had gone off. Remembering that she was already meant to be back at the Palace, and that Vyan would be at least halfway there by now, she had walked as fast as her starved lungs would allow through the city. She’d had to use the back stairwell to avoid running into people in the palace; a sprinting Duchess would only raise questions. Staggering to the bed at the far side of the expansive suite, she clambered onto the comforter, lunging for the book on her bedside table and throwing it open to the first page she could find. It took several inhalations for her gasping to subside and her pulse to return to a more acceptable rate._ _

__

__Not two minutes later the sound of footsteps grew in volume outside and the chamber door flew open to reveal a panting, sweaty Vyan. At the sight of her he seemed to visibly relax. She schooled herself to not breathe too heavily and to calm her expression so as to not appear over exerted._ _

__

__“As I told you before Vyan,” she spoke tersely “I am fine. It would seem your run was not required.” Vyan took a moment to gather himself, though now he was evidently relieved to see she had followed through on what she had claimed she would do, for once. He let go of the chamber handle, wiped his palms on the trousers of the black and silver guard uniform and bowed once._ _

__

__“Your Excellency, Hamïd has requested you join him in his solar. It seemed rather urgent,” he said his voice now less breathy and returning to its usual rich timbre. Dyra furrowed her brows. He couldn’t possibly know about her having people search for igneonite; she’d been covering her tracks for near on two centuries. No one would talk; she’d made sure of that. And he would never expect her to look for it within Khersoni when everyone knew the largest deposits were within The Trove. No this was about something else, and from the uncertainty on Vyan’s face she was beginning to feel an anxious nausea settle in her throat._ _

__

__“Of course,” she said quickly nodding to dismiss him before standing and gathering herself into a somewhat more acceptable state of dress. Tossing the linen cloak she’d been using under her bed, and straightening out her navy trousers she began to make her way down the never ending corridors towards Hamïd’s room. The golden sandstone walls of the Daleen Palace, were so heavily carved and painted, it was hard to make out the original rock walls underneath, each corridor more exquisite and elaborate than the last. And yet Dyra had passed by the statues and mosaics and murals so often that now it took real effort to appreciate them for their splendour. It was one of the reasons why she had had her own room stripped of colour and painted white; so that she never forgot to appreciate just how beautiful the rest of her home really was. As she approached the heavy silver birch door that led to Hamïd’s solar she hesitated before knocking. The journey to his chambers had only served to heighten the unsettling feeling she had and whilst she was sure it was none of her doing, it did not mean that the news was pleasant. Without waiting for an invitation she heaved the solid door open and entered the room._ _

__

__Hamïd’s sinewy back was turned to her but upon her entering he turned around. As he took in her clothes and uncommonly dishevelled appearance his face set out into a tentative smile._ _

__

__“You went to The Forum?” he asked, voice deep and yet simultaneously soft, and she nodded as a quick response. “Good. That’s really good …” he said deep in thought. “Who received the food this time?” Dyra allowed a hesitant smile of her own to slip through her sense of unease._ _

__

__“Most of the orphanages in the city residential areas,” she said and took pleasure in seeing Hamïd’s face light up with a smile. As an orphan himself before he’d become a Duke, it gave him contentment to go out of his way to help those who were in the position he’d been born into, but would never be given the opportunities he had been afforded. Whenever Dyra did the same it never ceased to put a beam on his face at her consideration._ _

__

__Hamïd’s smile was infectious. By all accounts Hamïd himself was infectious. Born from next to nothing, he had charmed his way through most of life using his wit, intelligence and strikingly handsome looks to the benefit of not only himself but other’s too. Fiercely protective of those he held close, his loyalty was difficult to be won but once gained near impossible to lose. Hamïd was everything Dyra could have wanted in a little brother and over a startlingly short period of time, for someone so guarded, that was what he had become to her. They may not share the same blood but they were the same heart, the same soul, both rulers of the same province with the same priorities and ambitions. Time had tamed his vivaciousness to a gentle buzz that was as joyous to be a part of as his booming laugh was to hear, and several lifetimes of success had combined with a sharp eye for reading people to make an unmatched, indomitable confidence that was hard not to get swept up in. When mixed with his high aristocratic cheekbones, unusually large Khersonian eyes and a full mouth it was no wonder Hamïd had always had women and men chasing after him._ _

__

__“It’s good that you’re continuing to go to The Forum on market day Dy,” he said gently “It makes me happy when you continue habits like that.”_ _

__

__“I’d continue more of my old habits, if I wasn’t so closely guarded all the time,” she said with perhaps more bite than she had meant to. The sinking feeling that had erupted within, had her on edge and that brought out her more guarded, hostile side. Hamïd had the decency to look ashamed before grabbing her shoulders beseechingly and looking her in the eyes._ _

__

__“You know why I do it,” he said in a calm voice that did little to hide the desperation lurking beneath. Dyra gave a long exhale._ _

__

__“I do,” she said bitterly. “It’s just it’s yet another reminder of everything.” Hamïd frowned before turning back to the massive ebony table in the centre of his solar. Reaching towards a stack of papers he picked up a single envelope before turning to her, his expression grave and Dyra felt the sickening feeling reach a dizzying pulse. He held up the letter and with a hesitant look at her he began explaining._ _

__

__“It’s from Isabeth,” Dyra felt confused. What on earth would the Ural’s have discovered that gave such cause for concern?_ _

__

__“She’s called an immediate Council meeting in the Core for us all. The Trove Warden’s received a message from our emissary in Pentos – a Gerion Lannister. He says there’s been disturbing reports coming from Westeros, more specifically the Wall, for over a year.” Dyra’s confusion peaked even more. Sothoryos had not been concerned with anything other than itself for millennia, and rightly too if history was anything to go by, they’d spent nearly three centuries at one point carving themselves out of Westerosi and Essosi history. Staying out of the way of the wars fought there had helped maintain peace at home. There was no reason to get involved, so why now?_ _

__

__“Dyra,” Hamïd’s voice broke her out of her reverie “I know how you feel about your prophecy. But it seems the sign’s can no longer be denied. This Gerion seems to think there’s something lurking beyond the Wall.” He was still looking at her, but she couldn’t see him, not really. The ringing in her ears from earlier was back, and Hamïd’s face was blurring. She couldn’t focus, as she felt the blood rush to her feet and her hands go numb. Imploringly she started to shake her head, silently begging him not to continue with what he was going to say. Hamïd could only hold her upright and choke back a sob in response._ _

__

__“The Ural’s think the White Walkers are returning Dyra. We leave for the Core tonight.”_ _

__

__The nausea returned at such force that Dyra collapsed to her knees and retched on the bile in her empty stomach._ _

__

__**So there we are first chapter! Hopefully you all have lots of questions that I look forward to answering (in time!). I hope you enjoyed it, please like and leave a comment, and I’ll see you all soon x ******_ _


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dyra responds to the news Hamid revealed at the end of the previous chapter and hastens to accelerate her meeting and missions with the smuggler. Meanwhile, the Council of Sothoryos journey to the Core, to attend the emergency assembly.

# CHAPTER 2 – DYRA KARVENDEESH 

For how long she had been sitting there on the silk recliner in her room, she was not sure. After retching in Hamïd’s solar, she had staggered out of the room, ignoring the concerned cries he shouted after her and made her way unsteadily back to her own chambers before collapsing into the chair she now occupied. Her mind lapsed in and out of focus, phasing from a turbulent chaos of unbidden panic before narrowing to focus on those words that had fallen so languidly from Hamïd’s lips: 

_The Ural’s think the White Walkers are coming. _ ____

___ _

___If she had not grown so bitter over the years then perhaps she would have dismissed him for a liar, but she had changed, and the Dyra that lived now knew from the grim set of Hamïd’s jaw, the sweaty pallor of his cheeks and the nervous twitch of his fingers that he was undoubtedly telling the truth. Besides, no one in Sothoryos joked about the White Walkers. The Others were beings of corporeal anger, living with no other intention than to ruthlessly slaughter every man, woman and child in their wake – that was after all the original purpose behind their creation. Dyra felt the bile rise again in her throat at the thought and her panic at heaving again sent her thoughts back into deranged madness. Her back was beginning to ache from the strain of sitting as straight as a ramrod for so long but she ceased to notice, so scared by the turn the day had taken._ _ _

___ _

___The sun had long since subsided before Dyra was pulled from her thoughts of ice monsters and history. In truth, she could have sat there easily for hours more, days more even, if only it meant she would never have to leave. It was the temperature that alerted her to the hour, more so than the sky plunging into an inky obsidian. As the heat left the city, and thus the palace, she felt the gooseflesh on her arm pricking and an involuntary shiver broke the painstaking cycle of her thoughts. Her eyes refocused again on several large leather cases that lay on her bed, fully packed and ready to leave. She’d been so engrossed in her own thoughts she had not even realized that her maids had entered her chambers, packed and left. It was rare that she could be caught so unawares but this new information had caught every part of her off guard._ _ _

___ _

____I’m not coming back ____ _ _

___ _

___She knew it for a certainty. If the Others were back then The Council would reel out her prophecy. And once they had done that, well she might as well kiss goodbye to her chambers, to the Palace and to Khersoni full stop. It would be far more painfully practical to prepare herself for the imminent reality that would greet her at Westeros’ coastline. Unbidden tears started to flow from her eyes as she took one last long around the chambers that had been hers for over 4 centuries. It may have served as a glorified prison as of late but it was still her home and she was petrified of what lay in wait beyond the Khersoni borders._ _ _

___ _

____We leave tonight. ____ _ _

___ _

___Her mind froze again in despair as she remembered what she had been up to during the day. The Council would be meeting perchance within the next four days, depending on how soon everyone could congregate. And if they came to the decision that she knew they would …_ _ _

___ _

___The thin morsel of a chance gave her the hope she needed to spring into action. There was not a moment to lose, she had thought she had all the time in the world to escape this prison – that is what she was cruelly promised after all - maybe there was a chance she could still find freedom instead of meeting a more desolate fate. She had worked this hard to get a hold of the igneonite, she would not miss the chance now; not for Hamïd, not for Vyan, not even for White Walkers._ _ _

___ _

___For the first time in hours, Dyra hastily rose on shaking limbs and walked over to the escritoire in the corner of her room. The letter was written with scribbled fervour on a scrap of old paper before being screwed into the folds of her skirts as she exited the room and headed to the menagerie. If she had not been so stricken with panic, she might have been more concerned with how she appeared to those passing by. As it was, most within the palace were now aware of the imminent departure of Hamïd and Dyra, and instead mistakenly placed this knowledge as the sole cause for her frightened consternation. Dyra herself was so focused now on getting the letter to the smuggler she had only just met with, that she did not even notice that she was not alone. The effort of brisk movement, following her use of magic earlier in the day combined with the nauseating fear in her throat to weaken the edges of her vision and leave a near feverish state of mind. She crossed the courtyard on stumbling feet, passed the palm trees that now swayed in the more temperate night breeze and threw open the door that led to the attic room where the carrier birds were located. She was so thoroughly winded by the time she had found a raven in the corner of the menagerie, fixed the letter to its leathery talon and sent the bird on its way that she couldn’t help herself from collapsing on the floor for the second time that evening to regather her breath. Only time would tell now if he would come and with that morbid thought, she returned to her chambers to gather herself._ _ _

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___/////_ _ _

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___It was rare she chose to wander the castle late into the night, and so she’d been racked with paranoia as she’d exited her chambers and made her way swiftly down hallway after hallway to the serving entrance. Such meticulous planning had been taken to ensure that if she was stopped by any of the Palace guards, the lie would roll off her tongue easily. I’m taking one last glimpse of my home before it is ripped from me for months on end. Or words to that effect - she may or may not be paraphrasing. ‘Home’ was a very liberal word to describe the Daleen Palace now; its walls more or less constituted a grandiose cell. It should bother her more she thought in retrospect, that something she once considered an extension of her now appeared so empty and cold, but this was what her ‘home’ had become and there was little she could do to change that. The irony of any lie she told would be lost on the servants though, they did not know her well enough to see through her fibs, let alone appreciate the sarcasm behind them. Even her clothing reflected her lie, such was its importance - she could not afford any part of it to be uncovered. The silk slippers, embroidered with violets would become near ruined by the dust and grime that coated the streets outside, but they left not even a whisper of a noise in the Palace corridors and no one would suspect her of leaving the grounds whilst dressed in her nightgown and slippers. She had contemplated a cloak, to at least retain some form of decency but her anxiousness had prevailed and fear of the questions it would raise had led her to leave it behind. She was only meeting one man, with the Lord’s mercy she could forgo her modesty just this once if only to see her plan succeed. The gold he required hung like a ball chain around her neck, tucked in between her chest. It’s mere presence only heightened her awareness of thieves potentially awaiting in the shadows._ _ _

___ _

___Leaning against the outer Palace wall, opposite the currently closed butchers she let out the shaky breath she had kept sucked in. The nightly breeze, though balmy in the summer air, was still strong enough to plaster the thin shift against her hips and slender legs. Suddenly the idea of covertness was a lot less appealing. Without four Palace walls and numerous guards – no matter how inconvenient they could be – she suddenly felt more exposed than if she had wandered the gardens as naked as her nameday. Her ears pricked at the sound of raucous, drunken laughter no more than two streets away. Involuntarily she folded her arms and shrunk in on herself in a vain attempt to remain inconspicuous - not that it would have worked, she was the only person standing in the street and the moonlight directly above offered little respite from its ghostly glow. They had no reason to walk towards the palace but that did not stop her from praying to whatever deity was listening that they came no closer. The High Duchess of Khersoni had not made an official visit outside of the Daleen Palace in decades so there was little chance of them recognising her. And she had chosen to leave her chambers without the welcome protection of her usual knife; a move which had once seemed intellectual in case the servants saw it yet now rendered her speechless at her own stupidity. She was more than capable of defending herself without it but an unarmed girl dressed in nothing but her nightgown lurking outside the walls of the Palace and beating would be attackers into oblivion? It would not take long for such a preposterous story to spread throughout the city and she did not need such tall tales reaching Hamïd or Sakhi’s inquisitive ears. It was just as she was cursing herself for ever getting into this mess, that she heard the footsteps and then upon looking recognized the face of the smuggler._ _ _

___ _

___“I did not think you would make it,” she had whispered, half fearful she would be caught._ _ _

___ _

___His appearance was no different from earlier; the same wicked mouth, the same harsh set of his eyes, yet now he was even less jovial than before. The way his heavy boots, hard-worn and supple, stomped across the smoothed pavestones and his arms pumped by his sides left her with little doubt of his incense._ _ _

___ _

___“And why is that Your Excellency,” he seethed, spittle flying from his mouth “Because you sent me a message in the daytime despite knowing the consequences if it was checked? Cos let’s face it with the amount of High Warden’s followin’ you that’s highly fucking likely!” she resisted the urge to lower her eyes in shame “or perhaps because the city teems with guards at this hour?” He loomed before her now, his black eyes boring into hers shamelessly. “Or perhaps it is because you were just anxious to be rid of me and to have this job finished under your own command.” She stood her ground but his vehement glare was getting harder to keep. She knew just how much she had risked his life, sending him the message out of turn, and yet she had done it anyway. She was that desperate; if the Others were here and she was to travel to the Core, Dyra knew that she was out of time – something which earlier today she had had an eternal abundance of._ _ _

___ _

___“You may be near on immortal Your Excellency, but I’m not, and I don’t intend to spend my days rotting in prison ‘cos of your stupidity.” She didn’t bother to correct him and say that he would never be taken to prison, merely executed the next day. She knew he was more than aware of it. No, instead she was now just as mad at him for insulting her thus._ _ _

___ _

___The emotions that had been tearing through her finally broke her perfect mask of external indifference. The slap came so quickly she almost heard it before she realized what she had done and felt the sharp sting in her palm. For what it was worth the smuggler had ceased to continue his verbal assault on her and her character, and was now staring at her, most likely stunned that a woman had slapped him, regardless of societal rank._ _ _

___ _

___“Do you think I would have risked my one chance at freedom on a single message if I had not been forced to?” she responded in full “this was a matter of the utmost urgency.”_ _ _

___ _

___“And what could possibly warrant such a pointless gamble?”_ _ _

___ _

___“I’m leaving Dalian.” She said it so plainly, it was the first time she had acknowledged it aloud, and the reality of it sent a biting shiver down her spine. She saw his face morph from anger to disbelieving confusion._ _ _

___ _

___“But you haven’t left the city in – “_ _ _

___ _

___“I’m leaving Khersoni for the Core. And I don’t know when or if I’ll be returning,” she said calmly, too calmly when one compared it to the turmoil inside. He was right, she hadn’t left Dalian in two centuries and she hadn’t left her province of Khersoni in even longer. The thought of watching everything she knew fade away from her was near on terrifying, and that was without considering what it was she was leaving Khersoni for. She may not have considered any particular place her home as of recently, but the eastern province was all she knew, and it was the closest thing she had to a safe location. She would never be happy, but at least she knew here, it was a part of her just as it had been every other Khersonian Duchess. Dyra may not have desired to leave but she had no choice._ _ _

___ _

___“How long until you leave?”_ _ _

___ _

___“A few hours. At best,” she sighed “they may even be looking for me now.” She saw the man swallow and his eyes close in exasperation. Dyra knew he did not particularly mourn the loss of her, more so the bag of gold that was meant to be his. Unless he could uphold his end of the bargain, it would never materialize._ _ _

___ _

___“I do not know how long I will be in The Core. But it will be a few days at least so they can fully prepare for my departure.”_ _ _

___ _

___“Where are you heading afterwards, perhaps we can meet you – “_ _ _

___ _

___“Westeros.”_ _ _

___ _

___“Westeros? Why the fuck would you go to Westeros?”_ _ _

___ _

___“It is none of your concern. No one has openly acknowledged who is travelling or the destination but I already know. I have known for a long time that this journey was coming, I just never knew when.” The man sighed, he paced over to the Palace wall, turned around and slumped against it, his expression visibly downtrodden. The breeze that had ameliorated the night temperature, was gone leaving nothing but a hot, tepid air punctuated by the distant sounds of a city that was never quite asleep. They were both silent for some time before Dyra grew impatient yet again._ _ _

___ _

___“Is there any way you can get the igneonite to me in The Core?”_ _ _

___ _

___“I don’t know. It could work. The mine where we found it is 2 miles south of Azram, by the border. It’s being forged there. You’re taking the conveyor, yeah?” she nodded “if I can get a raven to the men there, one could meet you at the border with it.” He looked up at her, once again serious now there was a semblance of a plan in place. “But you’ll have to pay me double. I ain’t risking my neck like this for the same price as before”_ _ _

___ _

___Dyra sighed, she knew it would come to this, it was only to be expected now that she was asking above and beyond what he had been paid to do previously. She’d expected to find herself vehemently denying him such an avaricious demand, and yet here she stood, scared and desperate, nodding absentmindedly to the request. She could not even find it within herself to feel shame at how little a fight she had put up, this is what she had become, a mere shell of the person she once was._ _ _

___ _

___“You shall have double,” she quietly acknowledged after a moment of waiting, “it must be ready by the time I reach The Core.”_ _ _

___ _

___He started to grin but then stopped in shock as they heard guards circumventing the palace walls above. Dyra’s heart lodged itself in her throat upon seeing two men standing directly 30 feet above them. Their distant chatter was barely audible, but they only need look down at the floor to see the both of them. What were they doing out of the watchtowers? They never left. Or at least they were not supposed to. She’d often pitied the guards of the walls, there was no invading enemy coming to lay siege to the city or its palace, just like there hadn’t been for centuries. And yet they still employed them to wander the walls in their black and silver uniform, daily and nightly. As the sound of the two men conversing became more and more distant, Dyra was knocked from her reverie. She looked down to see the smuggler staring at her imploringly. Realising that she was out of time she reached inside her nightgown to remove the bag of coins that had been tied around her neck and tucked away. It had felt like too heavy a weight resting there the entire time. She shoved the bag in his hand and without a word he turned to leave. Dyra grabbed his hand to prevent him, throwing an appropriate level of strength around her grip._ _ _

___ _

___“How will you get it to me?” she said glaring at him._ _ _

___ _

___“Don’t worry about that Your Excellency,” his wicked smirk returning “you’ll get it by the time you’re in The Core.” And with that that he turned to leave her standing by the wall, his consternation far happier now he had double his dues in his pocket. The smuggler had not gone more than five paces before he turned back around to face her, all trace of dismay and hopelessness gone. The moonlight cast a ghostly sheen to his scar-ridden face and did nothing to lessen the empty blackness in his eyes as he gave one final unsettling grin at her, his right arm raised in an odd mocking salute._ _ _

___ _

___“A pleasure doing business with you, Karvendeesh.” And with that, he turned and jogged silently away, before turning a corner and disappearing out of sight. She would never see him again, thank the Lord._ _ _

___ _

___Dyra let out a long sigh, relieved that it had gone as smoothly as she had hoped. She began walking the lengthier way back to the other side of the Palace via the serving entrance using only the shadow ridden walls as cover from the guards. Her footsteps seemed to tread even more lightly than rain thanks to the absence of the gold around her neck. Yet it was not the only thing that made her feel so much airier. Now that she had managed to ensure her own covert mission was still ongoing – despite the obstacles thrown in her way by Hamïd and the Others – there was a newfound optimism about her fate; for once again she now had certainty there was a way out. And nothing felt lighter than the certainty of escape._ _ _

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___It was rare Hamïd was not in a pleasant mood. Not that even a foul-tempered Hamïd was by any means difficult to deal with, but as he was generally so good-natured it was odd to find him quiet and out of sorts. Anyone else would have supposed it was due to the disturbing letter they had received two days previously as ever since then, a weight akin to a mountain had settled profoundly on the shoulders of every passenger on the conveyor. In truth, there were only three people who knew the true contents of the letter - herself, Hamïd and Sakhi, his consort – but it had not taken long for the servants, guards, and nobility in their Palace to recognize something was gravely wrong; anything less than a threat to the realm and they simply would not have moved Dyra away from Dalian. The previous hours as they travelled had been an excruciating blend of reassuring the company of soldiers, advisors, and servants who had joined them on their journey that everything was alright whilst all the while finding it harder to breathe in such a contained space. Dyra was sick of lying through her teeth, especially since for the first time in 203 years, her tepid, unconvincing answers were just as responsive as Hamïd’s. Yes, everyone else would assume it was to do with the letter, but only she knew the truth._ _ _

___ _

___She had known him long enough to know that if Sakhi was here, Hamïd would be playing a game of cevasse, keeping morale up among them all and generally giving much more credible lies to their companions. But beautiful, sweet-natured Sakhi had been forced to remain in Dalian; there needed to be at least one Karvendeesh remaining there to oversee the day to day running of Khersoni. Their farewell had been the equivalent of drinking sour milk for Dyra. Sakhi was the perfect equal to Hamïd. Quiet and intelligent, she often was likened to his shadow for their ability to cling to each other whenever they could. Her character was less effervescent than his, instead, it had the eternal capacity to sooth those on the receiving end of her attention like thick honey; a trait that came in handy when paired with her husband’s infernal teasing. A former barrister before they met, she also possessed a quick wit to rival his jokes and the ability to read and understand others like no one Dyra had ever met. She had at first found it disconcerting, how swiftly Sakhi could delve into her innermost thoughts and feelings, but over time had found in her an eternal confidante with which she could share almost anything – well, up until ‘he’ went at least. They had clung to each other on the Palace steps, Sakhi almost in tears at having to be left and Hamïd actually crying at being forced to leave her. Their two figures had been bound in an embrace so intimate and personal, Dyra had felt obliged to look away lest she witnessed something that was not for her eyes. It hurt physically and emotionally to see it, to be reminded of how alone she was, how alone she must continue to be. With a tender stroke of her cheek, Hamïd had kissed his wife on her forehead, her eyelids and finally her mouth before whispering a quick farewell. Dyra’s chest had agonizingly concaved in response._ _ _

___ _

___She sighed at the irony as she mused on the conveyor staring into the far off distance; the Great Sun Lord had made them near on immortal but no true being was allowed to live forever. So he had placed their greatest weakness in another human being. With every passing mile, she observed as Hamïd become more and more unsettled at the thought of his love drifting further away from him and shivered remembering the feeling. The ever-present dull throb in her body sharpened by her ribcage so suddenly she whimpered. Almost instantly she felt his restless eyes boring into her head. Cringing in on herself to will the pain to ebb away she muttered out an ‘I’m fine’ and forced herself to settle her pitying gaze elsewhere._ _ _

___ _

___The scenery out of the window had not changed much over the course of the last four hours. The first part of their journey had been undertaken in the early hours of the morning and the cover of darkness had not lent itself well to the usual jaw-dropping views of the lowlands. As the dawn had begun to break however, the carriage started its ascent up the plateau sides and they had been greeted with such a staggering view of the sun rising over Dalian that it had stolen Dyra’s breath in her throat. It had been so long since she had seen her home from a distance that she had forgotten what a striking image it could conjure up but as the morning light illuminated the dizzying spires of the palace, and the steep relief of the city streets came into view she was reminded why it was renowned for its beauty. The Serpentine River, which flowed down the valley, passed the city’s northern border and meandered its way into the Great Eastern Sea, gave credence to its name, its waters turned such a brilliant silver that it seemed to be a live snake writhing its way through the fertile lowlands. She’d looked as long as she could at it all; the sea, the sandstone buildings, the land, the river and felt a sickening, prophetic feeling of dread settle in her stomach as the last glimpse of her home was rolled out of view and wrenched away from her sight - for how long she did not know. She had turned back in her seat and nearly cried at the time._ _ _

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___Ever since then they had been greeted with the same monotonous grasslands, hour by hour, day after day. There was not much to see along these parts of Khersoni. The province itself was famous for its seemingly never-ending plains and they lived up to it. One could suppose that there was a certain beauty in their desolation; if you ignored the tracks for the conveyor, you could journey for miles without any other indication of civilization. And at this time of the season, the grass was just the right length that in the breeze it’s leonine stalks swayed as if it were rippling water pulled by a tide. There was little wildlife within a mile either side of the tracks as most animals avoided the conveyor and it’s wrought iron tracks like it was a plague. There was not much in the way of people either as the vast majority of cities, towns and ports were all situated on the coastline where the land was more fertile, water sources less scarce and the views more scenic. The only indication that there was any form of life out on the plateau was the occasional silhouette of oil mines on the horizon and the small mining villages that they provided employment for. Oil was Khersoni’s main exportation product and its plateaus held them in abundance. They were no pretty sight to look at, but they had helped shape the province into the rich region it was now and so even in their ugliness, they commanded a sort of reverence from the Khersonian people._ _ _

___ _

___Dyra continued to while away the hours watching the long grass scorched a light brown from the high summer sun, drift back and forth in the breeze. It was welcoming to focus her mind solely on one thing and to temporarily remove all thought of the igneonite, the smugglers and the white walkers. Overthinking during the journey had rendered her exhausted. Whilst she was aboard the conveyor, she could do little but hope that the messenger raven would reach the smuggler’s men with enough time for them to finish the forging. Until then she wanted a few hours of respite from her panic. She’d spent so long worrying about this operation, too many had died before trying to find igneonite for her over the decades and now she was so close to sweet success. Hamïd continued to remain silent, consumed by his own doubts and fears. He’d become so silent Dyra wondered if he was using magic, but then at long last, as the day started to draw to a close his finger developed an irritating need to tap inconsistently on his knee, and he had started to swallow more frequently and with greater fervour. At first she had tried to ignore it but once her attention had been drawn to it she found she could no longer absorb herself in the scenery outside._ _ _

___ _

___She was starting to resign herself to the fact that the already lengthy and boring journey had just become longer and more tedious when an unusual sight flashed outside the carriage window. It could not have lasted more than 3 seconds, given the speed the conveyor was travelling but she was sure she was not mistaken. She craned her neck to look backward. She had not been wrong. There in the middle of the grasslands, not 20 yards from the train was a man dressed in scrappy old linen and boiled leather. He was simply standing , spine curved from the years of long laborious work and skin soiled from soot and dirt, one hand clutching the reigns of a skeletal horse and the other grasping what appeared to be a crumpled piece of paper. And both he and the large black raven that perched on his shoulder were looking straight at her. The smugglers had received the message. She knew that was what it must mean. They had received the message and they were waiting to meet her. They were currently travelling through the middle of nowhere, there was seemingly no reason for the man to journey out here and stand by the tracks. The sound of a loud knock on the carriage door startled her out of her reverie and it took a couple of seconds for her to resume her impassive façade._ _ _

___ _

___“Come in,” they both responded in unison. She heaved an internal sigh of relief – at least Hamïd was no longer completely despondent. Desperate for something more distracting than his twitching finger and her morbid internal thoughts she looked up to see the carriage door slide away and reveal the tall, imposing figure of Vyan. He bowed stiffly before taking a couple of paces into the room._ _ _

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___“We’re coming into a town at the base of the Heartland Mountains, Your Excellencies,” Vyan’s deep, rumbling voice was as loud as thunder compared to the deafening silence which had filled the carriage before._ _ _

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___“The driver wants to stop for fuel in the town before we begin our final day travelling through the Heartland Mountains to The Core,” he finished waiting for their response. Hamïd stretched his stiff limbs before getting off one of the silk upholstered chairs and approaching the table in the centre of the carriage._ _ _

___ _

___“Which town is it Vyan?”_ _ _

___ _

___“Azram, Your Excellency.”_ _ _

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___Dyra’s eyes snapped to the map on the table. Azram. That’s where the igneonite was being forged according to the smuggler, if there was going to be any chance of the smugglers getting it to her, that town would be their best chance. Once she had crossed the Heartlands, it would be near on impossible to catch her without at least half a dozen guards. Her heart hammered at the prospect, this was what the man had been standing in the field for, a subtle message to be on guard for any one of the smugglers. She needed to get off there, and she needed both Hamïd and Vyan to be as unsuspicious as possible. She stretched her legs, before getting up slowly trying to remain as nonchalant and impartial as possible._ _ _

___ _

___“Why don’t we stay the night there? We’re all tired and I for one am fed up of this conveyor.” Breathe she told herself. Keep your voice level and monotone._ _ _

___ _

___“No. We need to get to the Core as soon as is possible,” Hamïd cut her off quickly and she fought to keep her dismay at bay. There was no way she was staying in this carriage knowing the smugglers would never be able to get the igneonite on._ _ _

___ _

___“I agree Your Excellency. Besides, my men and I would be less capable of offering protection to Her Excellency, we do not know this region and she has not been seen here in so long.” Vyan responded to Hamïd. The chance was escaping her before her very eyes, raw desperation clawing at her stomach._ _ _

___ _

___“So that’s settled then. We will remain on board whilst the driver refuels the conveyor – “_ _ _

___ _

___“No.” The two men turned to stare at her in surprise. It was not often she refused to follow orders to their faces; time had seemed to erase all the iron stubbornness in her. But now Dyra had something to fight for, and like hell was she letting anyone take it from her._ _ _

___ _

___“I have been kept in this singular carriage for the past two days. If I cannot stay the night in Azram, let me at least have a final meal in the open air.” She was close to seething but she forced herself to remain only exasperated on the outside. Neither of them must have any indication as to how much this meant to her, otherwise, they would never allow such an excursion. She looked into Hamïd’s deep brown eyes imploringly. There was a pregnant silence._ _ _

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___It was as if he had been suddenly reminded of just how limited their time together could be. Sadness sowed its ways into the lines around Hamïd’s eyes, and whilst a small smile melted onto his face, it was tight-lipped and forced._ _ _

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___“I’m tired of this carriage too. We will do as you wish,” he said kindly but stopped to reproach her the minute the smile spread across her face “but we will not linger by any means.” She hesitated before nodding in understanding. It was a start. When the conveyor slowly ground to a halt at the docking platform in the centre of Azram, she swiftly grabbed her cloak and before either Hamïd or Vyan had a chance to change their minds, hastily departed the conveyor into the town._ _ _

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___ _

___ _

___Her nerves had not gone unnoticed by Hamïd, that much she could tell. No matter how hard she tried to cover them up with reassuring glances in his direction, there was too much at stake for her to remain truly calm. At one point during the meal, he’d pulled her aside to ask whether she was truly okay._ _ _

___ _

___“You can go back to the conveyor if you are really nervous. I cannot fathom how you must feel right now,” She’d shaken her head quickly in response. Dyra needed to draw this out for as long as possible. If the smugglers had been monitoring her journey, surely they must know where she was now. It was just a case of biding their time for the most opportune moment. Hamïd and Vyan had misinterpreted her obvious signs of distress as fretfulness for the forthcoming days when her fate was to be decided and as a result, had kept an even tighter monitor of her over the course of their food. She did not bother to correct them or try to deny that she was scared. If they had come to their own conclusions why argue against it and make them question her more. Better they made incorrect assumptions and she had the luxury of for once not expending time and energy into keeping her indifferent expression. The meal had been eaten and paid for. It was a simple skewered loin of lamb, with meagre rice and a cool herbal yoghurt added to prevent it from being too bland – nothing out of the ordinary but then again, the landlady had not expected Sothoryosi royalty to stop by her tavern that evening. They’d been assured it was the finest establishment in the town. Dyra was fairly confident it was the only establishment in town and so it was not much of an achievement, but she bit her tongue and refrained from saying so._ _ _

___ _

___All too soon, Hamïd rose from the table and made to exit the sparse tavern, there was nothing she could do but to keep up appearances and follow. Outside in the late evening, the orange glow of the setting sun seemed to light up the walls of the sandstone buildings so that they shone with an earthy glow. Men, women and the like sat outside on makeshift chairs, drinking lukewarm tankards of ale, or chewing on a green plant. Azram was different in every way to Dalian; the streets were not alive with a nervous, neon energy, the men and women did not bustle everywhere at the pace of hounds and there was not a single mural or mosaic in sight. It was plain, simple and happy. She loved it._ _ _

___ _

___Further down the street from her, in the direction of the conveyor docking platform, she saw a group of men throwing a frayed leather ball to each other, laughing jovially whenever one of them missed. The thin linen clothes they wore were stained from the sand and dirt they’d rolled in during the game and the smiles on their faces so alive and absorbing they had not yet noticed the presence of their rulers and their guards walking another two meters behind. They were an odd group, consisting of exuberant boys who could not be older than twelve and withering men who by the reluctant way they passed the ball and hesitantly tackled each other, had to be pushing fifty at least. She was so engrossed in watching a particularly older man as they walked by she did not see the ball sail over her head or the young man stagger backward, his arms outstretched in a vain attempt to catch it until he was toppling into her and knocking her to the floor._ _ _

___ _

___Pain licked up her ribcage like a flame as the man’s weight pressed into her side and above and behind she heard shouts from the guards, Vyan’s booming voice quick to command the man ‘to remove himself at once.’ She looked up to see the boy staring down at her, eyes wild with nerves and lower lip trembling. And then she felt it, a long thin object was forced past her belt and held securely there resting against the small of her back, kept out of view by her cloak._ _ _

___ _

___“Your purchase, Your Excellency,” he whispered before being hauled off her by two of her guards._ _ _

___ _

___“Apologise at once,” Vyan commanded, in a voice that would have made his enemies cringe with fear. The smuggler offered a theatrical sorry, complete with trembling lower lip and watering eyes. Dyra was almost too stunned to respond, so offered a quick nod of her head and accepted the hand Hamïd offered her. As she stood up, the throb laced her side again and her hand automatically went to her lower ribs. One of the guards noticed and made a move as if to strike the smuggler._ _ _

___ _

___“No!” she shouted. Every eye in the vicinity watched her beadily. She gave a quick cough to clear her throat. “I am alright Captain, you may leave the man alone.” The guard nodded sharply before roughly letting go of the smuggler. She could feel her party start to leave, Vyan’s hand was gripping her arm and urging her to move swiftly back to the conveyor. She threw one last glance over her shoulder to see the smuggler. He nodded at her quickly before turning to his friends and resuming the game._ _ _

___ _

___Dyra’s legs were almost stumbling each other, the tension in her body having increased tenfold. She could no longer feel her limbs. Instead, the nerves and muscles had been replaced with an intense buzz. Vyan’s iron-like grip remained on her, and whilst she would usually chide him for treating her like a child, she did not think herself capable of being able to walk by herself, such was her nervous excitement. She had done it. She had actually managed to pull it off. And right under her brother’s and Vyan’s noses too. She wanted to laugh at the irony. She had never seen anyone as slick as that smuggler. It was only now she understood what danger he had put himself in. With the guards nearly always surrounding her in Azram it would have been nigh on impossible for her to sneak away and meet with him. No, it had to be done via a distraction, and what better distraction than one that involved the two of them colliding? With Vyan’s assistance, she stumbled up the step and into the conveyor._ _ _

___ _

___“I am fine now, thank you,” she said breathily. If Vyan noticed any difference in her behaviour then he did not mention it. Instead, he watched as she carefully made her way down the conveyor corridor, her cloak pulled tight around her shoulders before passing the door into the Duke and Duchesses Quarters. Hamïd was waiting for her._ _ _

___ _

___“Are you sure you are okay Dy?” he was on her in an instant, his brow furrowed and mouth drew tight “I saw you in pain, it was a nasty fall.” He reached down to gingerly check her ribs but Dyra swatted his hand away quickly, anxious to have his hands away from the package._ _ _

___ _

___“We heal fast. I’m fine,” she said to distract him “Truly.” She added for emphasis, making sure to hold his gaze._ _ _

___ _

___“Really? Because Vyan needed to help you onto the conveyor and – “_ _ _

___ _

___“Hamïd I said I was fine,” she snapped exasperatedly. If only you knew why …_ _ _

___ _

___He looked at her for a few long seconds, before nodding quickly and making his way over to his chair, shoulders slumped, no doubt assuming her short temper was due to the upcoming meeting. Dyra gingerly lowered herself into the chair, making sure not to disturb the parcel nestled snuggly against her belt._ _ _

___ _

___She waited. The conveyor groaned into life._ _ _

___ _

___She waited some more. The sights of Azram disappeared and they started their ascent through the Heartland Mountains._ _ _

___ _

___She waited even longer. The sun disappeared and then finally after an excruciating two hours, Hamïd fell asleep._ _ _

___ _

___Making sure to not create a sound she headed over to the makeshift lavatory in the corner, pulled the door close after her and locked it. The dim glow from a small oil lamp in the corner lent enough visibility for her to tear off her cloak, rip off her belt and open the package. She took a deep breath and removed the glistening knife from the brown paper and gasped. 203 years and here she was. They had played her like a fool. She wanted to burst into tears, this was no igneonite knife._ _ _

___ _

___It was just a plain dagger. And she had paid double for it._ _ _

___ _

___She let it drop onto the cloak on the floor and collapsed against the toilets. As much as she had tried to remain pessimistic about the outcome she could not deny that she had gotten her hopes up. And now here she was trundling at high speeds through the Heartland Mountains towards The Core to await a chilling reality. It would seem prophecies could not be changed after all; there was no escaping her fate. The sob caught in her throat and she stuffed her hand into her mouth to muffle it, lest she awoke Hamïd. Ragged breaths of hot shame and despair escaped her and her eyes burned with tears. She had come so fucking close and she had been cheated. She looked down at the dagger, it’s silver blade mocking her and reached down to pick it up. And then for the second time gasped._ _ _

___ _

___As she pulled on the handle the blade seemed to slip away, revealing the dark red, glass-like rock beneath. It wasn’t an ordinary dagger at all, it was a metal sheath disguised to make the dagger look like an ordinary blade. She was so astonished she could not breathe. They had not lied. They had gone above and beyond to help her. Given the purpose of the dagger she was not sure what that said about the smugglers, but at that point in time she did not care. She daintily raised a finger to its tip and lifted it with both hands to the oil lamp, afraid that she had fallen asleep with Hamïd and that this was all a dream. No, for once reality really had been this good. She had not seen igneonite in person for two centuries, and it struck her that she had never appreciated its wicked beauty before. The grip was wrapped in a padded black leather and laden with intertwining silver filigree. It was not so ostentatious that it forwent its designated purpose but it was by no means plain. The pommel and guard were also silver in the lamplight and exquisitely carved to look the snakes of her House. But it was the blade itself that was the most beautiful. A vicious shade of red, it’s translucent glass-like material meant that it almost seemed to glow. Pure igneonite._ _ _

___ _

___Dyra had never seen a dagger as beautiful._ _ _

___ _

____“Liberator,” _she whispered to herself. The blade winked in the light, happy with its new name._ _ _ __

___ _

___**I hope you enjoyed the second chapter! In this chapter think of the conveyor as the GoT equivalent of a steam train. People, society, technology and living standards all undergo dramatic improvements when exposed to long periods of peace and I wanted to show that here. My imagining for Sothoryos is how far Westeros could come if it had not been torn by war. Next chapter we shall meet a familiar name and then all too soon we’ll be in Westeros! x ******_ _ _


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Council reach their decision and Dyra's fate is sealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rest assured the next few won’t be this long! I hope you enjoyed this! One more background chapter and we’re in Westeros where all the faces are familiar! Thank you for bearing with me whilst I set the scene for Dyra, her story and her character. Please leave kudos, comments or subscribe – it really is an excellent form of motivation to know people are at least reading this story!  
> Possibilities x

### CHAPTER THREE - DYRA KARVENDEESH

She had not stepped foot in the Core in so long, and yet returning had filled her with the same sort of unnerving reverence that it always had. Excepting the priests who lived in the First Temple and the militia trainees, no one had a permanent home here which lent the Core an eery quiet which forged feelings of both tranquillity and unease in equal measure. This meant the only buildings in the Core were all magnificent palaces for Council assemblies and visiting nobility. It was in these buildings that every kingdom wide law was ever made, every Duke or Duchess was instated and every Sothoryosi soldier was trained, but apart from official duties there was little else that occurred. The Core was a sacred place, and for this sole reason it was treated with reverence by all Sothoryosi.

Since she had arrived a couple of days ago, Dyra had been escorted wherever she went. It was almost as if the combination of being apart from Sakhi and being responsible for her safety away from Dalian had driven Hamïd to extreme lengths to monitor every little thing she ever did. When they had first arrived two days previously, the two of them had been informed that every Duke and Duchess except the two from The Wharf had safely arrived and that until then the Council would not convene. She had spent those days in the chambers she had been given in a separate holdfast for the two of them and their household to use. Hamïd in his near paranoid state had instructed her to remain there and so that had made it easy to conceal _Liberator _from anyone who came to visit. However, this also meant she was unable to get to any temple to fulfil her wishes. The frustration this created left her extraordinarily volatile to even the slightest of nuisances. Now that she was out of her room that anger had dissipated somewhat, but she still refused to accept that the nine guards who surrounded her on the walk from her chambers to the Council Hall were completely necessary.__

__

__Hamïd had joined her halfway after spending his morning (much to her irritation) further exploring the Core and all of its municipal architecture and was now recounting to her in vivid detail the many ‘wondrous things’ he had seen that morning. It did not escape Dyra’s notice that he had seen them all many times before and that the true reason for his infernal lecture was just to fill the uneasy silence that had settled between them. Neither of them had acknowledged the elephant in the room that was the forthcoming council meeting, both instead choosing to either ignore it was ever occurring (Dyra) or prattle on incessantly by an anxiety fuelled babble (Hamïd). She was about to ask him to kindly be quiet when he did that all for himself and she realised they had reached the building._ _

__

__‘Building’ was perhaps too slight a word. Palace, would have been more apt. The open columned portico rose high into the sky; perhaps a little too ostentatious considering it only contained two rooms; the antechamber and then the council rooms. Both were lined with stark white marble, both had towering cavernous domed ceilings and yet only one had any furniture in it; an enormous circular cherry wood table with fourteen ornately carved wooden chairs lay in wait, within the council room._ _

__

__Their party of eleven stopped just before the guarded bronze door that led from the antechamber in the council room. Dyra’s exaggerated personal guards parted, allowing the two soldiers manning the door to see her. Beside her, Hamïd audibly swallowed, cleared his throat and spoke aloud_ _

__

__“Dyra and Hamïd Karvendeesh, of the House Karvendeesh of Khersoni.” The guards knocked on the door three times before opening it, the sound reverberating through the marble walls.  
203 years. That’s how long it had been since Dyra had been present at a Council Meeting, and she was filled with a wash of nostalgia as she glanced around. The vertices of the wall had been lined with gold filigree since she was last here but that was all that had changed. In front of her lay the great cherry table and around it the twelve other Duchesses and Dukes of Sothoryos in garments as varied as their cultures. At the end closest to her were four empty chairs where two figures stood off to the side. ‘ _So they were the last to arrive _,’ she thought _‘brilliant.’ _______

___There was the overpowering sound of chairs scraping against the floor as she walked toward the table, filling the vacuum of sound. All twelve pairs of eyes rested on her, waiting meticulously for her to do anything of interest. She realised with a start that some of them were new. Of course. Not everyone from before would still be in this life. The thought filled her with a morose sense of remorse; what happened to them? When? How long had she kept herself ignorant of the rest of the kingdom? She was removed from her own self-absorption and sadness at the losses by a tall full-figured woman moving away from the table to address her._ _ _

___ _

___“Dyra,” she smiled, her voice deep and rich “it has been too long.” Jola Pursí had not aged a day since she had last seen her. The tall woman glided towards her like a swan, one arm outstretched and grasped her right hand firmly within hers. The full-mouthed smile on her face was filled with a hopeful mirth but her warm brown eyes betrayed her anxiety. It was this look that prevented Dyra from returning her warmth to the same extent. As the human embodiment of hope, Jola had once filled her with confidence, but to see this never wavering certainty so drastically reduced made her feel even more uneasy. Perhaps a deep-rooted part of her had hoped that Jola would fill her with courage once again, but it had been dashed by that look in her eye._ _ _

___ _

___Jola half lead, half dragged her towards the table to the chair on the furthest left of the row vacant seats. She knew it. To the left sat Ceiman Seamoore – the eldest, and therefore highest ranking Duke. As the eldest Duchess she was supposed to lead them. She should have sat down straight away._ _ _

___ _

___But it didn’t feel right. No matter how much she might want to, she was no leader. She did not deserve to claim that chair, she could not be the person who inspired them all – she could barely inspire herself. She paused, casting one last long look at it and the rest of the room held its breath. And then she gently removed herself from Jola’s grasp and looked at her, her eye brows knitted together in a silent apology: forgive me, I cannot._ _ _

___ _

___She moved two chairs to the right, and sat down. There was an almost audible sigh as several members of the council’s shoulders sagged and Dyra was given the distinct impression that she had been the topic of heated discussion before her arrival. Jola stared at her for a minute longer looking defeated before masking her expression with one of composure and gliding to sit next to Ceiman at the metaphorical ‘head’ of the table. Even when her composure looked sad the rest of her exuded joy; the sunshine coloured silk tunic and trousers which contrasted strikingly with her ebony coloured skin, were far and away the brightest thing in the room._ _ _

___ _

___“Isabeth, I believe it was you who summoned this meeting,” she spoke with a deep clarity. Yes, Dyra decided, refusing the head seat was the right decision for now, Jola would do a far better job than she could dream of. Further down the table, an aging woman’s voice rang out._ _ _

___ _

___“Bring in the emissary!”_ _ _

___ _

___There was a rumble, magnified by the marble walls, and the doors reopened to reveal two men who could not have looked more different if they tried. On the left-hand side stood a small, young, scrawny man, with bedraggled hair, restless eyes and even more fidgety hands. He stood and gaped at the room and the Council members, his ill fitting black clothes, unsuited to the climate and threadbare. If his gaunt cheeks and shadowed eyes were anything to go by he had not eaten properly in weeks, and he carried himself as such: crooked posture, arms folded over his stomach and the gait of someone who had spent his life bowing and serving others. But it was not him that Dyra’s attention instantly focused on, no her eyes were instantly taken in by the straight-backed, aging man next to him. His hair and beard, which had faded with time to a white gold, were neatly trimmed, his nose and other facial features were sharp despite his age, and the laughter lines that surrounded his eyes were deep and well-worn. He strode confidently into the room, not with the walk of a man whose self-entitlement demanded respect, but with the walk of a man who no longer cared how you saw him; strong, languid and at his own pace. But it was his eyes that held her focus. Green as fresh-cut grass and clearer than any she had seen for two centuries._ _ _

___ _

____'Like his,' _her mind thought without permission. It was all she could do to keep her composure as the memory of Luc's beautiful eyes forced her heart to staccato in her chest. Beside her she could feel Hamïd’s gaze fixated on her, waiting for her to bolt but she kept herself sitting down.__ _ _ _

___ _

___“My name is Gerion Lannister. I work as an emissary to the Sothoryosi Council in Pentos but originally I’m from Westeros,” he announced in a booming voice that filled the cavernous room._ _ _

___ _

___“Lannister?” an unfamiliar voice cried and Dyra turned to see a boy who looked no older than fifteen “Isn’t House Lannister one of the Great Houses of Westeros?”_ _ _

___ _

___“It is indeed,” Gerion replied with an acknowledging nod of his head, he then turned it towards the boy standing beside him, clearly looking to change the conversation “this is Will. He’s a deserter from the Night’s Watch in Westeros. He abandoned his fucking post despite the lifelong vows, stowed away on board a ship from White Harbour to Braavos and from there begged his way to Pentos. That’s where I found him.” Dyra tried hard to fight the smirk that wanted escape at Gerion Lannister’s bad language, this became even harder when she saw the stunned faces of several council members._ _ _

___ _

___Gerion looked to the boy to continue and when he received no sign the boy was about to speak, rolled his eyes and slapped him on the back._ _ _

___ _

___“Tell them boy. Tell them what you saw that had you so frightened it made you run like a coward!”_ _ _

___ _

___The boy took a shaky breath “it were them. They was all dead, I know they were. About fifteen of ‘em,” he started, stuttering over his words and Dyra felt the entire atmosphere in the room shift. This was starting to sound exactly like what she had feared to hear the most. Everyone in the room clung to each word, each sound, each haggard breath the boy made._ _ _

___ _

___“I watched them for half an hour, no one moved they were dead I know they were.” He looked up at them “but they killed Ser Waymar and they would have killed me if I hadn’t stayed in the tree,” he was visibly shaking now, terrified by his own memories. Dyra empathised strongly with him._ _ _

___ _

___“Are you sure they were dead?” spoke Ceiman slowly “we have to be sure about this.”_ _ _

___ _

___“Aye, they were dead. Skin was white, eyes like ice.” He stopped to gulp “They killed Ser Waymar. And then he came back alive, only it weren’t him. Just some weird corpse that looked like him.” Dyra sank back into her chair. He’d seen a wight. Not just one wight she corrected herself, multiple wights. And where there were wights, there were White Walkers. She’d known it since the minute Hamïd had told her about the letter, but hearing it now confirmed to her in person was petrifying. The sense of foreboding dread that filled her scarcely allowed her to breathe._ _ _

___ _

___“Are you the only person that has seen these … dead people?” Ceiman started before turning to the table “Because if he is there’s a chance that the cold could have just made him see thin-“_ _ _

___ _

___“I’m not mad!” Will shrieked “I swear it! They were dead and then they weren’t!” He looked around desperately, his eyes shifting from person to person looking for a scrap of belief in anybody’s eyes. Next to him Gerion shifted uncomfortably,_ _ _

___ _

___“I do not know of another who has seen the living dead,” he started tersely “but I do know this. Over the last 3 years, there have never been a greater number of Night’s Watch deserters nor of Wildlings south of the wall.” He paused, considering his words. He paused a moment as if to invite the enraptured Council to pay closer attention; he needn’t have bothered. There wasn’t a single person’s attention that was not fixated solely on Gerion Lannister._ _ _

___ _

___“They’re not staying on Westeros for long either. They get as far south as they can or they stow away on the first ship to Essos or Ibben or anywhere that isn’t fucking Westeros as fast as is possible. Wildlings are popping up all over the Free Cities, I’ve heard tavern owners and merchants complaining about them stealing. They’ve never done that before, their entire ethos is to remain free men and they can’t do that anywhere south of the wall.”_ _ _

___ _

___“Perhaps they’re just migrating south to protect themselves from the forthcoming winter?” the old, female councillor from before suggested but one look from Gerion and she was quickly shut down._ _ _

___ _

___“What, the wildlings who live in the Lands of Always Winter are scared of a little chill?” he patronised “no they aren’t running from the cold. It’s no coincidence that all the Watchmen who desert are all rangers. There’s something sinister going on beyond the Wall and its White Walkers. I know it is. If I had more time, I’d gather more witnesses but I wasn’t given the damn chance,” he growled “they’re not migrating. They’re fleeing. They’re all fleeing for their fucking lives. Some aren't even waiting, they're taking their own lives, so convinced by what they claim to have seen.”_ _ _

___ _

___There was silence._ _ _

___Silence so long, so pronounced it drove an icy chill down her spine as if White Walker themselves had stepped into that very room and stroked long, bony fingers down her back. Dyrp/a could feel some of the other Council members turn to look at her and see how she reacted to the latter part of Gerion's tale, but she was too paralysed to acknowledge it._ _ _

___ _

___And then all hell broke loose._ _ _

___ _

___“Lies! It’s all lies, they’ve been dead for centuries!”_ _ _

___ _

___“We need to kill them now!”_ _ _

___ _

___“They don’t even know we exist, let’s just leave them to it!”_ _ _

___ _

___“I still say the boy is mad! Look at him he can’t focus on one thing for longer than a second!”_ _ _

___ _

___“Western fabrications! They want us to leave our homes, abandon our kingdom!”_ _ _

___ _

___Dyra looked over at Ceiman and Jola. Neither were focused on the uproar and chaos that surrounded them; theirs was a sphere of grim composure. She felt Ceiman turn his eyes to look at her, the piercing grey meeting her brown, and in that moment she knew how completely he believed Gerion and Will. It was the word of one man, one very crazed man, but all the behavioural symptoms of everyone else indicated he was telling the truth. She couldn’t completely admit to herself that White Walkers had returned but she knew he was right when he said there was some monstrosity occurring beyond the Wall – something that should not inhabit the world. She nodded at him in solidarity and took Hamïd’s hand next to her. Now they would have to decide what to do._ _ _

___ _

___“Silence!” Ceiman roared and the Council’s shouting instantly evaporated. They all turned to look at him and Jola._ _ _

___ _

___“If this is true, action must be taken immediately-“ he was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. They all turned startled to see Gerion looking quizzically at them all._ _ _

___ _

___“If I’m begging your pardon, Your Excellency,” he started “but what the fuck has this got to do with any of you huh? You’re all several months maybe even years of hard marching away for the Others to get to you. Seven hells, they’d have to cross the bloody sea and there’s no knowledge of wights being able to swim.”_ _ _

___ _

___Ceiman stared him down, unforgiving of Gerion for the interruption._ _ _

___ _

___“We cared last time and we will care this time again,” he began “you did not assume Azor Ahai was from Essos did you?”_ _ _

___ _

___Gerion stopped his mouth opening and closing._ _ _

___ _

___“He was a Sothoryosi voyager. He saw what would happen if he fled when he was in Westeros and the rest you already know. I believe you know the tale of the Last Hero.” Jola took this moment to step in._ _ _

___ _

___“The White Walkers sole purpose in life is to obliterate human life. They will not stop in Westeros. And by the time they reach our shores – which they eventually will do – they will have an army the size of two continents. We cannot fight such a thing that size … but we can help whilst they are still comparatively small.”_ _ _

___ _

___Gerion started shaking his head, lost in deep thought. “You can’t do anything, not for a while at least.” He murmured his head snapping up when several Council members opened their mouths to protest._ _ _

___ _

___“You heard me. No one in Westeros actually believes that the Others exist. They’re just stories to scare the children for a laugh,” his hands clenched into fists and his head shook with disappointment “you’ll be called a mad shit and cast out by even insinuating they are anything otherwise. And then there’s the problem of you.”_ _ _

___ _

___“Westeros does not think we exist either,” Hamïd finished for him. Gerion nodded grimly._ _ _

___ _

___“Seven Hells Essos doesn’t think you exist. You turn up with an army claiming to be the Lords or whatever you’re called of a kingdom few in Westeros even know exists and that you’re here to help them defeat the living dead, they’ll think you’re invaders and fight you instead.” A grim unease settled over the room. There was a significant silence as the nobles deciphered this new bit of information. Dyra struggled to comprehend how the situation could have been turned so bleak. The very people most at risk were also the one’s that had forgotten their original enemy. She had always perceived ignorance to be the mark of fools, but now she considered it their death as well. Narrow minded desires to perceive their own safety had led to the war that threatened to disrupt their entire civilisation. The Wall had done little to help as well, all it merely served to do was isolate and embitter thousands of wildlings, leaving them as sitting bait for the Others to turn into their personal army._ _ _

___ _

___“It seems to me we need to establish three things,” Hamïd slowly began to clarify after what had felt like an eternity of sitting and considering the dire circumstances. “Are the White Walkers rebuilding an army? How much do the Westerosi people believe in White Walkers? And are they smart enough to recognise the signs, and fight them?”_ _ _

___ _

___There was a general nodding consensus and he reached for Dyra’s hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze._ _ _

___ _

___“If you send an emissary, they could find this out and send ravens back. One person gives a much less hostile impression than an army. They don’t even have to speak with the Lords over there, though that would help rally troops I’m sure, they just have to find out common public opinion. The more information they can get on the North and the Night’s Watch the better,” Ceiman concluded. Dyra’s mind began to whirl, she had thought that all 14 of them would be travelling to Westeros straight away, she had been sure of it. When she’d head that the issue pertained Westeros she had been sure they would resurrect her prophecy. And yet here there was a chance that it would only be one person, nothing to specify it as her either, it could be anyone of the emissaries they had in the Free Cities; Gerion would be ideally suited. When she left Dalian she had assumed that she would never see her home again but perhaps they’d be reunited sooner than she had thought. Her heart rose through her chest to her head at the thought of home. It struck her odd that the place she had considered a prison for so long, now filled her with so much hope. But then again, remaining in Dalian meant remaining on Sothoryosi soil and near temples. And that was now the true intention of her life. This was turning out so much better than she had expected._ _ _

___ _

___“I could contact the intermediary in Braavos,” Gerion suggested. _Yes, Yes, YES. _____ _

___ _

___“No.” came a cold hard voice. Dyra’s head whipped round to face Jola and ice filled her veins._ _ _

___ _

___“Would this not be suitable Your Excellency,” Gerion growled. Listen to him, Dyra begged but Jola’s jaw was set firm and her hands fisted within each other. She stared at no one in particular as she voiced her thoughts aloud and Dyra was overcome with the knowledge that all the loose ends were coming together in Jola’s head. And she knew she wasn’t going to like the plan.  
_ _ _

___“Boy, how long did it take for Gerion to find you after you left the Watch?” she said voice uneven and unfeeling._ _ _

___ _

___“About a year or so Your Gr-Excellency,” confusion laced through his response._ _ _

___ _

___“And then Gerion, how long did it take you to journey here?”_ _ _

___ _

___“Well after meeting the boy and already knowing about the wildlings in the Free Cities it took me approximately 3 bloody months to reach you.”_ _ _

___ _

___“So since the group of wights was first spotted by the boy and I doubt he is the first to have seen them, nearly a year and a half has passed. If the boy is right then by my estimation the White Walkers no longer care about being subtle, they’ll kill anything that breathes beyond the Wall. That must be an army of several thousands by now.”_ _ _

___ _

___She looked to Ceiman. “If we send an Essosi emissary there is little validity in proving to the Westerosi that Sothoryos exists. None have our accent or resemble us or really know much about us other than the fact we exist and we pay them. And we cannot just send an ordinary Sothoryosi citizen. Whoever we send will need to be able to speak to both the common people and the Lords and Ladies. If we send a normal person to Westerosi nobility they will view it as an insult and reject us.”_ _ _

___ _

___Her eyes scanned the room slowly and Dyra’s heart thumped faster and faster as they scoured the room before settling like the toll of a nell on her. She could no longer see any warmth in her now._ _ _

___ _

___“It needs to be one of us. And Dyra should be the one to go.” She could have choked on her own breath at the sense of abject betrayal that flared within her, yet despite her disbelief and vehement refusal to go, she was not the first to speak._ _ _

___ _

___“Jola you must be joking!” Hamïd roared standing up so swiftly his chair clattered to the floor and Dyra flinched violently. He was joined by several more shouts of protestations from other Council members._ _ _

___ _

___“This is the first Council meeting she’s been ‘well enough’ to attend in centuries and you want to trust her with this,” Isabeth yelled._ _ _

___ _

___“I’m the youngest and therefore least valuable, I should be the one to go,” the baby-faced boy from before asserted. Dyra should have felt insulted they were arguing against it because they felt her incapable of such a journey, but the reality was she was too relieved to care. That is until a voice that had previously been quiet shouted out._ _ _

___ _

___“Dyra will go. She was prophesised to go.” Her head whipped round to see a young waif of a woman, at the other end of the table. Her face was unrecognisable which meant that she must have turned recently. The deep bronzed skin and thick black hair indicated that she was from Qulee. Dyra had no idea that the Duchess there had even changed so she must only recently been instated._ _ _

___ _

___New born or not, she hated her to the very core of her being. Hot, angry tears burned in her eyes and she felt Hamïd grip her wrists tightly to prevent her from physically lashing out at the girl._ _ _

___ _

___“Exactly,” she heard Jola say behind her in a voice that was as unfeeling as a wight. The Council shifted uncomfortably. They all knew her prophecy. They all knew each of their prophecies. All Dukes and Duchesses were given one when they were instated. That prophecy had haunted Dyra the second she had been given it, rendering her unable to sleep for years, the words echoing in her head like a war cry. As she had gotten older, it had bothered her less, there had never been a time allocated to it; for all she knew it could have been way into the future. So, she had attempted to forget it, to eschew it from her mind and memories and continue living. And for the past couple of centuries she had been too full of grief to even consider it. But that had all changed with Hamïd’s letter; the prophecy had bounded back with a renewed force, and now hearing about the White Walkers she knew it would be used against her. She knew this, Jola knew this and every other Council member knew this._ _ _

___ _

___“What does the prophecy say?” Gerion’s overly curious voice filled the empty cavern._ _ _

___ _

___After a long pause, Jola opened her mouth to recite only to be cut off by Dyra herself, speaking the words that had been carved into her brain._ _ _

___ _

____“Prophecy of the eleventh Karvendeesh. Dyra, first of her name. ____ _ _

___ _

____The Great Sun God’s daughter will journey west and raise the Lord of Light. ____ _ _

___ _

____She will fall to flame or the world to darkness. ____ _ _

___ _

____She will die long before she passes from this world. ____ _ _

___ _

____The rise of the dead will rebirth her living corpse.” ____ _ _

___ _

___The words were out in the open and she could not take them back. Her hand and lips trembling._ _ _

___ _

___“You sentence me to a fate worse than death,” she spat out to Jola, before turning her head to the rest of the Council Room “all of you.” Her eyes settled on Hamïd’s face, his eyes red rimmed and hands clenching the arms of his chair so hard the knuckles threatened to pierce the skin. He opened his mouth to say something, no doubt reassuring like he used to when he first heard her prophecy but that would no longer work now that her fate was so imminent._ _ _

___ _

___She could feel the energy drain from her limbs and the blood pound in her head. Clumsily she stood and backed away from that cursed table, ignoring Hamïd and Jola’s shouts after her. In the back of her head she could register Ceiman awkwardly demanding that they reconvene and vote on her departure later but she already knew her fate was sealed. Her weak legs nearly betrayed her on multiple occasions as she half stumbled, half ran from the room back to the palace she’d been kept in sequestration._ _ _

___ _

____'I have to get to a temple. Now.' ____ _ _

___ _

___ _

___/////_ _ _

___ _

___ _

___Even though she had previously known the outcome the Council meeting would bring, it did nothing to assuage the dread that completely embodied her now. The reports were largely unfounded; just one man’s voice claiming to have seen a wight – not even a white walker at that - but the decision had been all but made, and Ceiman and Jola had signed her sentence – she would travel west._ _ _

___ _

___She had to get out of here, and quickly. She knew that the minute she left Sothoryosi shores there was no chance of _Liberator _being of any use – or at least no more than any other ordinary dagger. No-one from the council had followed her from the Council chambers - probably in an attempt to give her the space she needed - but the guards she had been assigned hurried to catch up with her, caught unawares that she would be leaving the meeting so soon and in such a state. The incessant sound of their boots behind her, drove her onwards towards her chambers where _Liberator _was being stowed. The guards pulled back slightly when they saw she was merely going to her room but they still followed through the halls of the holdfast to her chambers. As soon as she was in them, she slammed the door and bolted it. Making sure no one could get in unawares she started pacing around the room._____ _ _

___ _

___This was it, the last chance she would ever have before being forced to leave and live out the prophecy. That was the reason why she had been allowed to suffer for so long, why she had been watched and guarded and all but imprisoned in her own home. Four damned sentences that had ensured her physical and emotional pain continued both day in and day out. If anyone else’s consorts died they were allowed to take their own lives, but no she had been imprisoned and left to suffer so that they could ship her off to her death at the appropriate moment all because of some hells-damned prophecy. She could not arouse suspicion to herself. She had a small window of opportunity before anyone of the Council members – most likely Hamïd – came to visit her and reinforce and update the security on her. But nor could she return to her room and then instantly leave, the guards would be too wary. She took a deep breath to calm herself and then crossed the room to her bed. Carefully so as not to make a noise she lifted the mattress and felt for the tear she had made in its underside. Her fingers feeling the torn edges, she plunged her hand into the mattress and felt for the cool metal touch of the dagger. Finally, her fingers grasped its blade and carefully she pulled it out before returning the mattress to it’s original position._ _ _

____She hitched up the skirt she was wearing and tied the dagger around her right thigh using a scrap of linen, taking time to ensure that when she lowered her skirts it would leave no visible bumps. And then she waited a minute. And waited some more. When she was convinced she had wasted enough time her impatient self grabbed a silk scarf and roughly wrapped it around her head before heading to the door of her chambers and throwing it open.__ _ _

___ _

___Only to reveal a startled Jola, hand held aloft, ready to knock._ _ _

___ _

___The unease and anxiety that engulfed Dyra meant her composure was more on edge, resulting in her jumping back several paces in shock and knocking into a table with her right thigh. Her heart stilled and she struggled to focus on Jola whilst her attention was completely overwhelmed by the fact that Liberator had slipped and was now resting at a jolted angle, the tip poking out the back of her skirt. One wrong move and it would fall._ _ _

___ _

___“Dyra, where are you going?” Jola started, her voice far too polite for the betrayal she had issued not even an hour earlier._ _ _

___ _

___“To the temple. To pray for my life since my former closest friend stole it from me.” She had never felt such acute hatred towards someone before. It irrationally suffused every pore in her body and she could feel the tension rolling off her in waves. “You dare show your face here after what you have done to me!”_ _ _

___ _

___“If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else in that room and you know it. We all know the prophecy, we all knew it had to be you,” Jola tried reasoning with her, her voice attempting to soothe in the motherly way that Dyra used to seek comfort from. Even though she was of a similar fixed age to her, Jola had always had such a caring presence; she couldn’t seem to help herself from calming others. It was probably why the Great Sun Lord chose her. Now however, it seemed like a falsified joke._ _ _

___ _

___“You know what will happen to me and you send me there anyway! What kind of a person are you?” she seethed, her voice straining with the effort to even form words. The guards stood near her doors, moving nothing except the grim set of their eyes._ _ _

___ _

___“A leader. And one who knows that sacrifices have to be made no matter the personal cost.”_ _ _

___ _

___“What the fuck do you know about personal cost?” she screamed now, all pretences of trying to stay calm gone. Jola’s smooth, calm expression morphed into one of equal anger._ _ _

___ _

___“You are my closest friend! Of course this is a personal cost! I have watched you waste away over the last couple of centuries. Do you have any idea how hard it has been watching you become this wreck of a body? You weren’t the only one to lose someone that day” Jola might as well have slapped her for the effect the words had on her._ _ _

___ _

___“You dare insult me with that? The situations aren’t even comparable. How would you feel if Mukana died? Would that compare to losing me Jola?” she reached out to hit her but Jola caught her weakened hand with ease. There was a tense silence before she watched the anger leach from her expression. iI Dyra hadn’t been so furious she would have been warier. She should have been warier._ _ _

___ _

___“Dyra, where are you going?” she spoke evenly._ _ _

___ _

___“To pray like I said before. I’ll need all the help the Great Sun Lord can give me now, no thanks to you!” she spat, continuing to fight against Jola’s iron grip which - as it tightened like a constrictor - was beginning to shoot pains down her arm._ _ _

___ _

___“That’s curious, for Hamïd told me you haven’t prayed in decades,” Dyra’s efforts slowed down as Jola’s voice eerily started to sound accusatory and the meaning behind her words washed over her._ _ _

___ _

___“Dyra where are you going?” She didn’t answer, she couldn’t answer. All she was capable of doing was looking at Jola’s expressionless face and seeing the raw, blazing determination there focused on her skirt. It must be showing. She knew _Liberator _must be showing but she was too scared to acknowledge it.___ _ _

___ _

___“Dyra lift up your skirt,” Jola spoke evenly. All the fight left Dyra’s hand._ _ _

___ _

___“What?” she tried dumbly._ _ _

___ _

___“Lift up your skirt.” Jola said. Dyra froze unable to move, unable to believe this was happening. When she still hadn’t shifted Jola used her other hand to reach down and force her skirt up, revealing Liberator nestled precariously against her leg. Before Dyra had time to react, Jola had used her unweakened strength to snatch the dagger from it’s confines._ _ _

___ _

___“Guards,” she had shouted and almost instantly Dyra found her hands grabbed._ _ _

___ _

___“Get off me!” she screamed petrified at the thought of losing “I command you, please! Please!” the tears were flowing thick and fast, it was all she could do as she was forced to watch Jola slowly remove the metal sheath from the dagger to reveal the wicked red, igneonite blade._ _ _

___ _

___There was an audible sob from both girls. Dyra choked on her tears. It was over now, she knew there was no way she would ever break free. She felt the last remnants of hope that had slowly brewed up over the previous months be obliterated before her very own eyes._ _ _

___ _

___“How … I don’t understand … how did you get this?” Jola whispered, visibly disturbed._ _ _

___ _

___“It doesn’t matter now does it? You won’t let me end it all now.” She gagged on her own sobs. Jola turned to her furious._ _ _

___ _

___“Of course I won’t let you die! How could I? How could I stand back as you committed suicide?” she shouted._ _ _

___ _

___“I would have let you! If Mukana was dead, I would have mined the igneonite for you myself! I would have let you end all the suffering rather than forced my best friend to live through this curse that our so called ‘Sun Lord’ gave us”_ _ _

___ _

___“And if the situations were different I would have done the same for you! But they weren’t. Luc died and you needed to stay alive, the prophecy demanded it!” Dyra flailed trying to hit her._ _ _

___ _

___“Fuck the prophecy! I wouldn’t let you live through that either! I would have helped you, I would have always helped you! I have lived in physical and emotional agony because you turned your back on me when I needed you the most! And now if the prophecy is anything to go by you’re sentencing me to become a wight!”_ _ _

___ _

___“I never turned my back on you,” Jola strained “I just saw what needed to be done, whilst you so clouded by grief turned your back on your duty.”_ _ _

___ _

___“Can you blame me? I’m not supposed to outlive Luc this long – it’s not the natural order of things! You, Hamïd and the entire Council imprisoned me like an animal ready to fulfil the prophecy and be slaughtered at the right moment!”_ _ _

___ _

___“We don’t have a choice, Dy,” Jola whispered stepping further away from her. “You must go to Westeros now. This dagger won’t work in the same way there, there are no temples dedicated to our faith. You’ve given us no choice.”_ _ _

___ _

___“Like I had one to begin with,” she spat at Jola’s feet and turned up to face her, face red with anger, eyes blinded by hate. When Jola responded it wasn’t to her, it was to the guards._ _ _

___ _

___“Take her to the cells on the far side of the Core. I must convene the Council, tomorrow we leave for Zamettar.” And then she hurried away, Liberator in hand leaving Dyra on her knees, a sobbing, desperate mess._ _ _

___ _

___ _

___/////_ _ _

___ _

___ _

___The Council had heeded Gerion’s advice about the lack of knowledge for both Sothoryos and the White Walkers. Dyra still had trouble digesting the fact that Westeros believed the Long Night and the stories of Azor Ahai to be nothing more than impractical fantasy; ghost stories to tell the children. She could understand the desire to feign ignorance and let harsh reality become nothing more than legend, but that did not mean she appreciated the need to. To pretend that nothing had existed at all was to condemn the Westerosi population to grave danger; surely, they understood that?_ _ _

___ _

___She was so lost in her thoughts, she barely registered when the dense tree canopy collapsed overhead and the cramped cell-like room on the conveyor was flooded with beams of light from the tiny slit like window. They must have emerged from the Green Hell and into the coastal region near Zamettar. The light filtered down onto her hands, shaking her from her internal rationale. She uncrossed and stretched her aching limbs before unsteadily pushing herself off the floor to look out of the window. It took several seconds of rapid blinking for her eyesight to adjust to the intense brightness but when they did she was greeted with the sight of Zamettar in the distance, and the Summer Sea beyond it. She’d never travelled beyond the defences into the Green Hell. It’d existed as a natural border from invading enemies from millennia. The Sothoryosi had once attempted to cultivate it, but when relations with the Valyrian stronghold and Essos had become sour, they’d allowed it to return to its original feral state. The difficult terrain and climate made traipsing an army through it near impossible, and had acted as the biggest defence mechanism the continent had. And manning it all were the forgotten ports of Yeen and Zamettar – once major trading ports connecting Sothoryos to Essos and beyond. They’d been allowed to be abandoned by citizens - as they no longer could inhabit it safely - but not by military personnel who secretly remained there to oversee the defence system._ _ _

___ _

___As the conveyor rolled steadily into Zamettar, Dyra gulped at the ominous ambience of the town. Tears pricked her eyes as the train passed what remained of houses, butchers, trading stalls and blacksmiths, all collapsing under the crushing weight of time, and left to fester and rot for an eternity. Her breath caught at a derelict temple, it’s brightly painted walls faded by the sun and covered with grime. The door and windows had been smashed no doubt by pirates, looting the port’s remains. Its sad façade reminded her of another temple in another place, closer to home ..._ _ _

___ _

___The wretched sob was drawn haggardly from her throat before she could stop it. She stuffed her hands into her mouth to prevent further sounds escaping her. She could not afford to look afraid, even when they sent her away from the only land she’d ever known. Willing her heart to still and her bones to regain an ounce of strength, she forced herself back into a cramped sitting position to wait out the remainder of the journey._ _ _

___ _

___After what had felt like an interminable amount of time, the conveyor shuddered to a stop, it’s brakes groaning with the long-forgotten effort. Within thirty seconds, a military officer was unlocking the cell she’d been kept in and assisting her to her feet. Tentatively she tried to take a few steps but her limbs, devoid of any feeling after sitting for two long, could not take the effort and she was left tumbling to the floor. With great effort the man raised her again and held his arm for her to clutch on. Humiliated she hesitated before taking it, willing herself to put as much distance as possible between the two of them so as not to give the air of someone who needed so much assistance just to walk._ _ _

___ _

___The first thing she saw as she exited the conveyor, was a large wooden ship, nestling against the stone jetty in the harbour. It was old; the wood aged and worn, the sails patchy and stitched together in several locations, but most importantly it was practically empty. Skeletal in fact. She turned to see Hamïd shuffling towards her, head angled upwards to inspect the ship. The clench of his jaw and thin-lipped grimace told her he was just as dismayed with the state of the vessel as she was._ _ _

___ _

___“I was informed the ship would be basic in order to prevent piracy,” he muttered “but this is something else.” He turned around to face another behind them “are you sure this is safe? Do you have any idea what it would mean if the ship was wrecked?”_ _ _

___ _

___“I’ve sailed the Summer Sea’s for years, Your Excellency,” she heard the sharp response of Gerion Lannister “and this is the smartest way to avoid attacks. Big enough to deter those who are looking for an easy invasion and shit enough to not be worth a full-scale attack. Pirates will not care about such a lowly looking thing when there is greater prey voyaging around these parts.”_ _ _

___ _

___Dyra took a deep, shaky breath conscious it would be one of the last she would take on these shores. With the look of the ship perhaps it would be one of her last breaths full stop, the boat looked like it would keel the minute she stepped aboard._ _ _

___ _

___“You better be right Lannister,” she muttered and a snort behind her told her she had been heard._ _ _

___ _

___“I’m a Lannister, I’m never wrong.” Fighting the urge to roll her eyes she took a couple of steps forward away from the conveyor platform and towards the harbour. Almost in sync, the sounds of footsteps echoed to her left. Quite a few it would seem had come to see her off and when she turned to look at them she was unable to prevent the surprise on her face._ _ _

___ _

___A host of guards in deep muted green armour stood in formation, their faces turned straight ahead but their eyes unable to prevent themselves from being fixed on her. She supposed this was the first time any members of the public had officially seen her in two centuries. These must have been the soldiers stationed here permanently to act as a pre-emptive defence and to accost any explorers or pirates who came too close for comfort to the heavily secretive Sothoryos._ _ _

___ _

___She took a gulp, the amount of eyes fixed on her making her uneasy and with an almost imperceptible nod in their direction she set off after everyone else down the jetty to the ship._ _ _

___ _

___“Your Excellency if I may have a word,” Gerion said all traces of teasing removed from his tone. This fact alone was enough to force her to turn around and face him. She noticed they were now a little separate from the rest of the militia and farewell party and at the end of the jetty she could see Hamïd watching her closely, eyes squinted in confusion._ _ _

___ _

___“Yes My Lord?”_ _ _

___ _

___“Gerion,” he corrected “I refused that title when I left my family.” Her eyes narrowed; what kind of person abandoned their own family for no given reason? Her chin lowered and she fixed him with a cold stare, a silent command for him to continue._ _ _

___ _

___“I was wondering if I could ask a favour of you?” He approached but hastened to add when her eyes widened and her lips curled in distate, surprised he would ask anything of her. “it’s really nothing too taxing, don’t look at me like that for fuck’s sake.”_ _ _

___ _

___“What is it?” Dyra ground out, her patience already at it’s limits. Today was not the day to ask favours of her, she was already being put through too much. Gerion reached behind him to pick up a long, thin parcel, almost taller than herself and evidently not light if the way Gerion’s aged muscles became taut had anything to show. The package was wrapped in dirtied hessian and secured at either end with thick rope. He held the parcel out to her, gesturing for her to open it. Dyra edged forward and untied the knots, curious as to what such an unusually shaped package would contain._ _ _

___ _

___The fabric slipped away to reveal the most beautiful greatsword Dyra had ever seen. The blade itself was dark, the countless folds and ripples lending the steel the semblance of a sea in mid-storm. Valyrian steel. Dyra could trace the layers with her fingers, feel the inscriptions near the hilt: Hear Me Roar. The grip was red leather, bound tightly and embroidered with gold thread. The cross-guard contained further solid gold craftsmanship and rubies hammered into either end, but all of this was nothing compared to the pommel which rose out of the top of the sword like a crown in itself. The roaring lion’s head was battered but no less fearsome; the gold, dulled by time, if anything made the sword more eerily beautiful._ _ _

___ _

____“Brightroar,” _Gerion said softly “the ancestral greatsword of House Lannister.” She looked up at him, to see him staring at the sword with a look of nostalgia.__ _ _ _

___ _

___“Just over 10 years ago, I set off to look for this fucker in the Smoking Seas of Valyria. It had been a childhood dream to find it, ‘to do my part for House Lannister’” he said in a bitter imitation of someone he clearly once knew. “It took 3 hard, long years, but I found it. And I felt nothing. Nothing at all because I knew that was it, I would return and there would be nothing left for me” his large imposing brow was tugged together, his voice present but his mind, she realised, a thousand miles away._ _ _

___ _

___“My brother Tywin was always brilliant,” she listened to him, all familiar traces of joking gone, she realised he didn’t sound bitter like most people would have, he just sounded resigned. “He was something of a genius, cast one hell of a shadow when I was growing up. But he wasn’t an easy man. No … brilliant but ruthless. My brother Kevan was also clever but he wasn’t anything like Tywin so he became his right hand man. And Tygett, well he lived as if he had a constant stick up his arse. More jealous of Tywin than anything else. Then there was me.” He looked at her now, realising she had been watching his face morph as he remembered his family._ _ _

___ _

___“I wasn’t stupid but I was no Tywin. And I wasn’t serious enough to be his right hand man like Kevan. And well I knew I could never beat him at his own game like Tygett tried to,” he gulped “there was no place for me back home. So when the Sothoryosi scouts caught my ship and offered me the opportunity to spy for them, it was too good to be true. I had a purpose again, and it was no longer something superficial or fictitious like _Brightroar.” _Gerion’s eyes travelled wistfully back down to the sword in his hand, she understood then what it meant to him, how much it meant to him. So she covered it back up.___ _ _

___ _

___“I understand the desire to leave and never return,” she said quietly looking up at him “what is it you would like me to do?”_ _ _

___ _

___“Bring it home. You’re going to Westeros and I know your main job is to see what the people believe but at some point you’re going to have to convince the Lords and Ladies of Westeros of what you know. To do that it’d be best to get into the Red Keep. This sword belongs at Casterly Rock with my family, but it may also buy you the ticket to an audience with Tywin Lannister that you need. He’s there serving as Hand of the King to my great nephew Joffrey.” Dyra’s brow furrowed._ _ _

___ _

___“Forgive me if I’m wrong, it has been a while since I looked at Westerosi history but if I am not mistaken, the Targaryen’s are the ruling House of Westeros?” She was cut off with a sharp laughter._ _ _

___ _

___“Seven hells they weren’t kidding when they said you were in the dark,” he grinned once again “the Targaryen’s haven’t been on the throne for nearly two fucking decades. It’s the House Baratheon that rules now.” She could feel her eyes widen in shock._ _ _

___ _

___“Did the house die out?”_ _ _

___ _

___“No the Baratheon’s rebelled, you’ve got all the time in the world on that shitty ship to learn about this. I compiled all the resources I could find from the Core before we left. My home is in a sad fucking state it would seem,” his green eyes crinkled bitterly at the corners, amused by her confusion._ _ _

___ _

___“B-But they have dragons!” she protested._ _ _

___ _

___“Not anymore,” Gerion sighed “damn shame really. Would have made it more entertaining.” Dyra’s mind reeled. She knew that times would change over the last couple of centuries, but she had never given much thought to the rest of the world. It had simply never concerned her before, why should it now? Her cheeks hot with embarrassment from Gerion’s teasing she hastily snatched the greatsword out of his hands._ _ _

___ _

___“I’ll return this to your brother or any immediate members of your family. Thank you,” she said courteously. She turned to leave but felt a terse hand grab her forearm in a painful grip. Immediately she flinched, the constant ache in her bones and muscles that accompanied her everywhere, peaked and waned just as quickly as it had come. She saw Gerion’s eyes flicker over her shoulder and knew instantly that Hamïd was watching them even more closely, if not already moving towards them to defend her._ _ _

___ _

___“Anything else, you feel the need to ask?” Dyra stared him down imperiously, she felt remorse for the man before her but he had no right to cause her harm no matter whether it was his intention. Whatever guilt Gerion had for her disappeared when he saw the cool gaze she levelled him with, and instead his lips twitched with mirth._ _ _

___ _

___“My brother is no fool, he’ll dismiss the sword for a fake at first. Don’t forget he’s thought me dead a good 8 years. You need to give him this as well to prove its legitimacy and mine,” he paused to pull a letter and a much smaller parcel from within his cloak. Gerion hesitated, his mouth opening and closing, finding the words to say before settling upon: “it also explains everything to him.” With the message finished he carefully folded the parchment into the hessian flaps which contained the sword. And when Dyra turned to look up at his face, he looked ten years younger. Despite his age, it was obvious he was handsome in his youth. Coupling this with his charismatic personality and she was left with no doubt that Gerion Lannister was quite the breaker of hearts when he was a young man – most likely to his brother’s dismay it would seem._ _ _

___ _

___“I wish you well in Westeros Your Excellency. Say hello to my nephews for me. They always were good fun,” and with that he turned to leave._ _ _

___ _

___“You are not travelling to Westeros even for a visit?” Dyra shouted after him. “I would have thought a curious person such as yourself would want to see what has become of their family?”_ _ _

___ _

___Gerion paused for an almost imperceptible second, his shoulders tensed and then he turned to face her a wry smile etched onto his face, “I board a ship to Yunkai in two days time and from there I’ll return to my wife and children in Pentos. Some things, Your Excellency, are best left in the past no matter how much we may want them to return.” And with that he walked away from her. She did not know how long she’d been staring after him until she heard footsteps behind her._ _ _

___ _

___“He’s a good man really,” Jola claimed softly. She had clearly been nervous to approach, her pace having slowed to a nervous traipse until she was next to her, the top of her head level with Dyra’s nose._ _ _

___ _

___“Soon I will be forced away from the only land I have ever known. I am not in the mood to waste such precious time, discussing trivial things with you,” Dyra responded allowing every ounce of hatred to leach into her voice._ _ _

___ _

___“Why do you hate me so much for this? Hamïd has done no less,” Jola turned to her, her ebony skin starkly contrasting the white linen she wore. Dyra felt her blood boil and fought to keep her anger in._ _ _

___ _

___“Because Hamïd was at least apologetic about everything he ever did to me. You act as if it is the right thing to do.”_ _ _

___ _

___“Keeping you alive is the right thing to do!”_ _ _

___ _

___“Not when I am in pain!” Dyra was close to tears. “Not when I have to spend every torturous second, hurting in every cell and fibre of my body. Not when I have to continue onwards and I can’t feel anything other than misery” Jola’s deep brown eyes turned to her in pity, which did little to sooth the desire to hit her._ _ _

___ _

___“Everything I ever did, I did because we care for you Dyra. This is what is meant to happen. You are meant to go to Westeros, we just never really knew why, surely you can see this? I may love you Dyra but your life does not exceed millions of others” she was pleading with her now, reaching out to grab her arm but Dyra snatched it from her grasp._ _ _

___ _

___“Please Dy,” she whispered._ _ _

___ _

___“This is the last time I will ever see you Jola. That is the one good thing about today,” Dyra said, turning to walk towards the wreck of a ship that would take her far away. There was a moment’s silence from behind and she’d begun to assume Jola was too angry to continue reasoning with her._ _ _

___ _

___“Dyra wait,” there was something different about the way she spoke now. No longer the desperate voice of the former trusted companion she’d deployed before, Jola sounded cold, distant and aloof. Gone was her friend and in her place was the leader she was. She almost envied her; how easy it seemed for Jola to switch off her emotions and take a clinical approach to life. If only Dyra had control of her pain in the same way. To feel nothing would surely exceed the agony she lived in._ _ _

___ _

___“You might as well take this then,” she said and Dyra turned to see Jola’s arm extended, _Liberator _held out to her, wrapped in the disguised metal sheath. She did not even bother to hide the surprised expression on her face; Jola had gone to such great lengths to keep her quarantined from any other living, breathing soul like an animal since she had first discovered _Liberator _. Why would she even consider returning it to her now?_____ _ _

___ _

___“It will not work in Westeros. There are no temples dedicated to the Great Sun Lord,” Jola admitted seeing her confusion “at least not in the way you wish it to.”_ _ _

___ _

___“So you’re giving me a constant reminder of my own failure as a parting gift?” Dyra snapped. This was too much, she’d come so close to escaping this journey, this life and everything within it, but Jola had put an end to it. Forcing her to acknowledge her almost success, day in day out whilst she was away from home was cruel._ _ _

___ _

___“And what’s to stop me taking this greatsword and running it through you,” she gritted out gesturing to _Brightroar _tucked carefully in her arms. Jola’s eyes flitted anxiously and her mouth set hard, but she never lost her grim composure.___ _ _

___ _

___“You no longer have the strength, you’re too weak,” she coolly responded, her lack of emotion only serving to ignite Dyra’s further. She stood facing Jola for a long time, waiting for her desperation to dissipate somewhat, to leave her level headed. Because at the root of it all, that was what she was. She could claim she was angry at Jola, but she knew the Duchess had her best interests seemingly at heart, the same way she justified Hamïd’s actions; it’s just neither of them could truly comprehend what she had lived through. No one living could, it was her curse to bare alone._ _ _

___ _

___No, the reality of it was that she was scared, and a coward. And she had been looking for a path to claw her way to an escape for too long for her to change her habit now._ _ _

___ _

___“There’s a temple over there,” she murmured her gaze softening at the ruin she had spotted back on the conveyor, “what’s to stop me from taking the dagger and going there myself? Finish it now before you force me to leave?”_ _ _

___ _

___Her conscience registered an audible intake of breath and then a guiltily whispered confession._ _ _

___ _

___“The soldiers aren’t only here to see you off. They were here to prevent you doing anything stupid. And you’re too weak to use magic.” Dyra fought to swallow the rock that had formed in her throat, her stomach churning._ _ _

___“You have no right to command them to do anything against me. I am the oldest member of the Council; of the two of us I have the superior authority” she murmured weakly, hating how pathetic she sounded. _Those that must exploit their titles, do not deserve to have them. _____ _

___ _

___“Not when it’s a unanimous vote, Dyra,” Jola responded. Her head snapped up at this revelation, even Hamïd had agreed to this. She could not comprehend how he would willingly sanction their own soldiers to maim her, should she try to escape. How much faith had she forced him to lose in her, due to the course of her actions? Dyra could not stand the thought of a disappointed Hamïd; he had been the one thing consistently urging her on throughout the years._ _ _

___ _

___Jola’s voice broke her from her chain of thought “just take the dagger Dyra. You paid for it you might as well use it whilst you’re away,”_ _ _

___ _

___“And you’ll take it off me when I return?” Neither one of them acknowledging she probably would never return._ _ _

___ _

___“Of course,” her lips curled at one corner, “but until then it is yours.”_ _ _

___ _

___Dyra hesitated, before awkwardly tucking the dagger into the hessian folds covering _Brightroar _. She could store it away later.___ _ _

___ _

___“Goodbye Dy,” Jola muttered a hopeful expression melting into a crestfallen one when Dyra simply responded with a nod. Jola had once meant so much to her, and deep down she still did. But she could never forgive her for how she betrayed and ignored her wishes. Jola was looking for someone to fix, to return things to how they once were, but Dyra knew that the change in her was irreversible no matter how hard others tried. She could never be that happy, confident, strong woman again and it broke her just as much to know this as it did Jola to speak to the mere shell of her former confidante._ _ _

___ _

___Unable to take Jola’s pitiful grimace, Dyra turned and walked down the jetty to the small crowd by the ship’s gangplank. She’d barely reached the ship, when a strong pair of hands carefully lifted _Brightroar _from her hands and set it on a pile of crates, ready to be loaded into the hull. She looked up to see Vyan smiling at her.___ _ _

___ _

___“What are you doing here?” she asked quizzically, caught unaware by her Chief Guard. Vyan merely smiled a sheepish grin that had far too much impishness to make her feel easy._ _ _

___ _

___“Your Excellency did not think she’d be travelling alone did she?” if Dyra was being honest she had not thought about travelling companions at all, in an attempt to subconsciously refute the idea of her going anywhere “I’ve been assigned to accompany you in Westeros, along with three others; two maids and another guard.”_ _ _

___ _

___“I thought I was supposed to be blending in with the common people?”_ _ _

___ _

___“Well erm yes, but should you manage to find your way into the Red Keep, you cannot claim to be a foreign dignitary if you don’t have someone looking out for you,” it made sense. They could act as her friends when they were in the slums or towns but the minute she had to return to her position of high birth, they could support the act it would take to persuade the Lords and Ladies of Westeros._ _ _

___ _

___“Thank you Vyan,” she said with a small smile and a nod of her head. Vyan’s small smile morphed into a wide grin and he bowed before ascending the gangplank. The sound of a throat being cleared behind her made her turn. She barely had time to register Hamïd’s face before he had engulfed her in a hug so tight she could scarcely breathe._ _ _

___ _

___“I’m going to miss you Dy,” he whispered against the top of her head. Her heart clenched at the words and she burrowed her hair in his shoulder. She was supposed to be the sister he never had, but she had been so desolate and without hope she had failed him in practically every way. Hamïd was the only person Dyra had left and despite everything she had thrown in his direction, he had never abandoned her or left her. Maybe leaving him was for the best; she’d only served to hold him back in the past._ _ _

___ _

___“I shall miss you too,” she said pulling back to look him in the face. If the deep purple shadows under his eyes were anything to go by, Hamïd had struggled to sleep these last few nights just as much as she had._ _ _

___ _

___“You will be fine without me though, you’ve managed by yourself for so long,” Dyra spoke looking up at him eyes shining with pride. Hamïd’s face stretched into an ear-splitting smile and pulling apart from her he reached out to nudge her shoulder._ _ _

___ _

___“There is no conceivable way that I could have managed without you there,” he teased. The praise sat oddly with her, not because it was ill intended, nor because she thought Hamïd was lying – no she was sure he meant every word of it, that was just the kind of person he was – it was the fact that even with his conviction, the words felt undeserved. She had helped him, in the very beginning but that had been it and so hearing him share any credit regarding Khersoni’s prosperity only served to make her feel ashamed – she was a poor excuse for a leader and that was the harsh reality. Dyra could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks and found she could no longer look him in the eye._ _ _

___ _

___“Regardless,” she began trying to move the conversation swiftly on “I wish you all the good fortune in the world … brother.”_ _ _

___ _

___He pulled her in for another tight hug, an almost giddy grin when for the first time in years she responded with just as much enthusiasm, the fear that she would never see him again stripping her of every particle of resentment for his part in her confinement until there was nothing but a desire to never say goodbye. This was the last person she would see before she left, of that she was sure, and once they had parted there would be no more excuses for her to remain on the jetty._ _ _

___ _

___“I have something for you Dy,” he said pulling apart one final time, his hand searching a pocket within his linen tunic. From within he pulled a scrap of fine, black cotton and handed it to her. On the side facing her, was a pair of meticulously embroidered albino cobras, arranged in a circle: the symbol of House Karvendeesh._ _ _

___ _

___“I had one of the maids make it for you before you left. I know the concerns of our house have not been on the highest of your priorities since ... well, you know. But it’s always a part of who you are regardless of how much or how little you choose to acknowledge it.” He was right, she used to be proud of her House but it had been a long time since the pair of snakes had resonated so deeply with her._ _ _

___ _

___“Besides,” he continued “I hear they are still fond of tournaments in Westeros. You can use it as a favour,” she could almost hear the smirk on his tone._ _ _

___ _

___“Thank you,” she said briskly “but I don’t think it will come to that.” She gave him a smile and tied the favour around her wrist._ _ _

___ _

___“Goodbye Dyra. Until you return.”_ _ _

___ _

___“Goodbye Hamïd.” She did not bother telling him that the chances of her ever coming back were slim, he knew as much. Instead she spent her final seconds with him, committing the face of the closest person she had to family to memory, she would draw him in the days to come – a permanent memory of the last living member of her ‘family’. She turned and started to walk the gangplank and board the ship. She could see Vyan talking with whom she presumed to be the Captain by the bow. The main deck was sparse, the only additions it contained were the wooden crates for the journey which were soon to be lowered into the hull and that was it. She allowed her hand to languidly trail along the splintered, wooden railings taking in the sight of Zamettar and the Green Hell beyond. This was it. The last time she might ever see home and she drank it all in obsessively, desperate to permanently scar it into her memory. A raw sob bubbled up her larynx and out of her mouth and this time she did nothing to stop it. She’d fought so hard the last few days to try and fight this fate but a part of her had always known that this was the predetermined course of her life, no matter how much she wanted to counteract it. She could see Hamïd looking up at her below, see his concern and his helplessness in the way his jaw clenched and his brows pulled together._ _ _

___ _

____Hold it together. Just keep yourself together until we are out of view, at least for him. ____ _ _

___ _

___She clung to the rails to keep her legs from collapsing beneath her, and with the other folded it defensively across her stomach so as to keep all the worlds harm from ever reaching her, even as it knocked on her door. There were several shouts behind her on deck and above the sound of the sails flapping became silent as the ropes pulled them taught. A low groan. A sudden lurch. And the ship started moving._ _ _

___ _

___“Dyra!” Hamïd yelled from below and she stared at him in earnest, drawing whatever strength from his presence she could._ _ _

___ _

___“Tread carefully,” he said with a knowing look. Their house’s motto. She had not heard it in so long but the words still filled her with the same sense of caution and solidarity in equal measure. Things will be okay as long as you take heed to make the right decision. She repeated it like a mantra in her head before shouting the motto back to Hamïd, her voice lost on the breeze. It filled the void of all the things she should have said._ _ _

___ _

____I will miss you, brother. ____ _ _

___ _

____I love you, brother. ____ _ _

___ _

____You are better than I ever could be. ____ _ _

___ _

___She only looked ahead when he was too small for her to see, the trees of the Green Hell were nothing more than a sliver on the horizon and everything else was swallowed up by an ocean of blue._ _ _

___ _

___And then she let the tears fall._ _ _


End file.
